The Time That Is Given To Us
by Teleryn
Summary: Sequel to 'Firesight'. Ember's last memory is of carnage and fear in wintry Erebor. Now, sixty years later, she wakes up in the midsummer Shire. As she sets out to discover just what the hell has happened to her and everyone she's ever loved, she realises her legacy precedes her, and that a new quest with entirely new allies (and enemies) awaits...
1. Into The Shire

**Chapter One**

 **Into the Shire**

 **** **A/N:** Why hello there. If you've been following this series since the beginning, then go forth, awesome reader, and enjoy! If you're coming to this new, follow these instructions: 1) Go onto my author page. 2) Click on _Starsight_. 3) Read. 4) Repeat Steps 1-3 for _Firesight_. 5) Click on this story. Otherwise you'll be so lost that no number of Satnavs will be able to rescue you. We all clear? Marvellous. Off we go...

 **Disclaimer:** Oh yeah, of course: obligatory I-own-nothing-but-the-contents-of-my-mind post. Now onto more important things:

She held onto grass blades until the ground stopped spinning, taking refuge in darkness when it was too exhausting to keep her eyes open.

Gradually, with patience came stability. She slowly sat on her knees and let cool night air brush her head. The sky was starry confetti cast over fresh ink. There were also fireworks.

She sat in the field awhile, unsure of whether she should focus her energies on standing up and getting somewhere, or on recalling who she was and what had happened to her. She did know she was a complete self, a woman with a history, with likes and dislikes. For instance, if she thought of a pear she knew that it was disgusting, that her favourite colours were pine green and burnt orange, and that _a dragon was heading straight for her_.

She gasped and threw herself face first into the grass, hands protecting her head. At once overcome with dread, she waited for the end as if she had practiced doing so a hundred times before. When the end then didn't come, she risked glancing up. Ferocious red and orange sparks descended from a single point of explosion in the sky, like branches from a tree.

The dragon was just another firework. But she had seen a real one before. She stood, shaky and breathless. Everything came back to her in a jumbled mess, memories flinging into her head like a rain of swords. There was too much of everything, too much loss, for her to understand. One thing she did pull out of the chaos: her name.

There was cheering just over a hill. Ember knew where she needed to go, if stealthily - she had no idea what race of creatures might walk these lands. As she hiked up the steep incline, Ember saw her legs and realised she was clothed entirely in white: boots, trousers, and her father's shirt (inexplicably repaired) all _unnaturally_ white, as if the materials had been dazzled into their pristine condition. Even as she stepped in mud, the soles of Ember's boots remained clean, which she found thoroughly disturbing. The only non-white item was a dark blue cloak to match the evening sky, which she did not recall having before.

Finally, although without really wanting for breath, she reached the top of the hill and surveyed the landscape below. Immediately she drew back behind a lone tree, hiding herself from the largest, merriest garden party she'd ever seen. Round paper lanterns glowed soft as fireflies above a lake of hobbits, and colourful bunting fluttered in the mild evening breeze. It must be summer, Ember inferred, before alarm snuck up on her. In Erebor it had been the start of winter, which meant she had travelled not only through the sky, but _through time itself_.

She shivered and forced this realization into a box. Until she found a suitable sanctuary, for the sake of her sanity, all such revelations would have to be shelved. Back to observing what was presently before her: hobbits, musical instruments, plates of food, barrels of ale, a cake the size of a small nation, more hobbits, sparklers, washing up tubs, yet _more_ food…and then she saw him. It was impossible not to, given the height difference. But even in a crowd of a thousand men, Ember would know that grey pointy hat and staff anywhere.

'Gandalf,' she whispered, her first word in an age. She felt a storm of questions rise to her lips, ready to be asked, but before her feet could move, the festive mood suddenly changed. Ember peered out from behind the tree trunk and watched curiously as one elderly hobbit in particular stood before the rest on a table. She presumed that this was the host.

'My dear Bagginses and Boffins,' he began with verve, to the sound of cheers, 'Tooks and Brandybucks, Grubbs, Chubbs, Hornblowers, Bolgers, Bracegirdles and Proudfoots…'

'Proudfeet!' a hobbit corrected, prompting laughter.

'Today is my one hundred and eleventh birthday!' declared the host, at which Ember balked. Did hobbits usually live so long?

'Alas, eleventy-one years is far too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits,' he continued. 'I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.'

A baffled silence fell over the crowd.

'Someone's a master of wordplay,' Ember muttered to the air. She watched as the hobbit folded his hands behind his back and shuffled on his feet. His voice softened, but not quite enough to be out of earshot.

'I, er, I h-have things to do…I regret to announce - this is the End. I am going now. I bid you all a very fond farewell. Goodbye.'

And in a blink, he vanished. A collective gasp rustled over the hobbits in the garden, some standing, others outright fainting. Ember's own moment of stunned silence was fleeting - a faint anger took over like hot water on a fresh wound. She took advantage of the commotion below and tore away from the tree. Gandalf was on his feet already, moving so quickly and so purposefully towards the nearest hobbit house, he could have been gliding. Her mind took knowledge from the near future and brought it before her: in under a minute the hobbit would track invisible footprints up the front path and enter that house, only to be immediately confronted by Gandalf. Childishly determined to be the first one there, Ember swept herself down steep grasses towards the back garden. She already knew every door would be unlocked on the first try.

Amidst the impromptu and hysterical searches that began for the elderly hobbit, not a single person noticed the way his front gate and door gently creaked open and shut without any visible mover. Once inside the privacy of his own hobbit hole, Bilbo Baggins removed his ring and indulged in laughter.

'Ho-ho!' he chuckled, tossing the trinket in the air before securing it in his waistcoat pocket once more. Humming blithely, he took his favourite walking stick from the wall and wandered into the living room, where the hearth crackled cheerfully.

'I suppose you think that was terribly clever.'

The hobbit almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of Gandalf's voice. He wheeled around to face the wizard, who was leaning against the mantelpiece as though having waited there for some time.

'Wha - how did you -'

'So the disappearing act has become your signature,' came a third voice, 'Or am I under some outdated impression?'

Now it was Gandalf's turn to look taken aback. Silence fell over the room as a white figure stepped out from the shadows of another doorway. Bilbo was convinced they had a ghost in their presence, the ghost of someone he had not seen in over half a century. Gandalf stood up straight, the ceiling scraping his head.

'...Ember,' he said softly, a smile creeping into his face like the first tinges of dawn. 'I always hoped we would one day meet again.'

'But…but this cannot be,' said Bilbo. 'How are you alive? Where have you been? Why are you here now? How is it you haven't _aged_?'

'Steady, my friend,' said Gandalf, 'Ember likely has no more answers to these questions than you do.'

'And I _will_ want them answered,' said Ember sternly. 'For the present, I'm much more concerned about your behaviour, Bilbo, and why you still possess that wretched ring.'

'It - it was just a bit of fun!' Bilbo tried, before catching their expressions, 'Oh, you're probably right, as usual.'

He plodded to the hearth and took down a long pipe from the mantelpiece.

'You will keep an eye on Frodo, won't you?'

'Two eyes,' said Gandalf, 'As often as I can spare them.'

'Frodo?' said Ember, 'A pet of yours?'

'A pet!' exclaimed Bilbo, shaking his head. 'Ember, Frodo is my nephew. I'm leaving everything to him.'

'What about this ring of yours,' said Gandalf with a voice on edge, 'Is that staying too?'

'Yes yes, it's in an envelope over there on the mantelpiece,' replied Bilbo distractedly. As Gandalf riffled through various opened envelopes, the hobbit straightened up. '…No. No wait, it's here, in my pocket.'

He held it between his thumbs, eyes affixed. Ember felt uneasy just by watching the hobbit from a distance. There was something about his gaze that reminded her too much of the gold-sickness that finally broke Thorin Oakenshield.

'Heh, isn't that odd though?' Bilbo said to no one specific. A frown crept into his aged face. 'Yet, after all, why not? Why shouldn't I keep it?'

'I think you should leave the ring behind, Bilbo,' Gandalf said firmly, 'Is that so hard?'

'Well, no…and yes!' Bilbo glanced at the wizard over his shoulder with mistrusting eyes. 'Now it comes to it, I don't feel like parting with it, it's mine, I found it, it came to me!'

'There's no need to get angry,' said Ember, stepping forward.

'Well, if I'm angry, it's your fault, both of you!' snapped the hobbit. 'It's mine, my own…my _precious_.'

'Precious?' repeated Gandalf. 'It has been called that before, but not by you.'

'Argh! What business is it of yours what I do with my own things?'

'I think you've had that ring quite long enough.'

'You want it for yourself!'

'Bilbo Baggins!' Gandalf growled, his aura darkening significantly. 'Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks. _I am not trying to rob you_.' The very walls around him seemed to bleed blackness, the manifestation of a wizard's righteous anger. Yet, as soon as it had begun, it was over - the room was restored to its original warm firelight. Gandalf's shoulders relaxed, as did his expression. 'I'm trying to help you.'

This was what brought Bilbo back to his senses. His eyes at once looked like those of a lost child - he stumbled into Gandalf's arms, shivering and scared by his own mannerisms.

'What has happened here,' muttered Ember, disarmed and in disbelief. 'What has happened to _you,_ Bilbo? I feel as though this is decidedly not the same hobbit with whom I journeyed, however long ago it's been.'

'Indeed, much has changed,' Gandalf nodded, 'But one ring is not enough to rid us of the Bilbo we know and trust.' He put both hands on the hobbit's shoulders and regarded him with kind eyes. 'All your long years we've been friends. Trust me as you once did, hm? Let it go.'

'You're right Gandalf,' said Bilbo at last, 'The ring must go to Frodo. It's late, the road is long. Yes, it is time.'

A pack of belongings on his back, the hobbit made for his round door and opened it onto the cool evening.

'Bilbo?' said Gandalf, waiting in the hallway.

'Hm?'

'The ring is still in your pocket.'

'Oh,' murmured Bilbo, with only a slight sincerity to his forgetfulness. 'Yes…'

He took the ring from his waistcoat pocket, but did not relinquish it right away. Ember watched in silence, sensing his struggle from afar. Bilbo looked down at the ring in his open palm with a stony face, lips clamped together. Slowly but surely, he tipped his hand until the ring slid away and fell to the floor. Ember's heart flinched at the _thud_ it made on landing - no ordinary trinket had the weight to do that…

Wasting no more time, Bilbo turned away and stepped out into his front garden. For a moment he gripped his walking stick, blinking like an owl. Ember and Gandalf followed behind him, uncertain of what to say.

'I've thought up an ending for my book,' said Bilbo, looking relieved of a great burden as he faced them. ' "And he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days."'

'And I'm sure you will, dear friend,' said Gandalf, smiling as he stooped to shake Bilbo's hand.

'Goodbye Gandalf.'

'Goodbye, dear Bilbo.'

'Ember.' The hobbit may not have had the same appearance as his younger self, but the way he looked at her, she could have been seeing through time. It was the most familiar he'd been all evening. 'Even were I not about to leave, I wouldn't know where to begin. I do hope our paths will cross again soon, but for now: I am sorry.'

Often, those three words were so small, but the feeling that carried them to her ears made Ember aware of how, at other times, they could be very powerful. She found a smile tucked away somewhere.

'Farewell for now, old friend.'

With a little wave, Bilbo set off into the night, closing his front gate behind him. The song he sang, about a road going ever on, flitted like a smoke trail in his wake.

'Until our next meeting,' Gandalf said to himself.

As soon as he closed the door, Gandalf knew his next task was to deal with Ember. Her arms were folded, brown eyes determined. He acknowledged her glare before diverting his attention to the ring, sitting on the floor, seemingly harmless.

'Leave it.'

He sighed, but obeyed. This much he did know about the ring - it was not about to sprout wings and fly from the house. The witch and the wizard walked silently back into the living room and took up opposing chairs. Ember looked patient, patient enough to sit there for as long as necessary to get her questions answered. She leveled her eyes with his in the firelight.

'Explain.'

He explained. It took twenty minutes of uninterrupted talking; Ember listened to every word with a disturbingly statuesque stillness. Gandalf began from Smaug's destruction of Erebor. After that, Ember had severe difficulties remembering what had happened.

'You would not have survived for much longer, had I not sent you here,' said Gandalf. 'After bringing the battle to an end, you were like a dying candle spent of its wick. I feared you would burn to death from within and fade into non-existence.'

'So you made me fade out of time instead.'

'Not I,' Gandalf corrected, to her surprise. 'Such power is not within my domain, but as it quickly became clear, the Valar were watching over us. It was a power I borrowed with permission on very short notice, one might say.'

Ember rested her jaw in her palm and stared at the fire, deep in thought.

'I see. Dare I ask how far into the future I've come? Because while you are exactly the same outwardly as you were not one week ago, Bilbo is almost unrecognisable.' Her eyes widened as she touched upon a possible theory. 'Is that what the ring has done to him? Accelerated his path to death?'

'Quite the opposite, my dear. Bilbo is, as the hobbits put it, eleventy years old, an age exceedingly few reach, and none in such good health.'

'Oh yes, so he said…' Ember met Gandalf's eyes. 'And I suppose a being like you doesn't age at all?'

'Beings like us do not,' said Gandalf, 'Sixty years have come and gone since the Battle of the Five Armies.'

' _Sixty years_?' gasped Ember. She held onto the arms of her chair as though she might suddenly be dragged away. 'But…but what about A-'

'Bilbo! Bilbo!'

The door swung open, accompanied by a voice Ember did not recognise - more than a youth, but not a fully matured adult.

'He's gone, hasn't he?' said the young hobbit, standing in the hallway, looking thoroughly disillusioned. 'He talked for so long about leaving. I didn't think he'd really do it.'

'Frodo,' said Gandalf, rising from his chair, 'I'm sorry he did not stay to bid farewell, but he is in good hands -'

'What's this?'

Frodo narrowed his eyes at Bilbo's ring, still on the floor, forgotten. Gandalf intercepted the hobbit in moving to pick it up.

'Uh, wait, allow me -'

But as soon as his large spindly hand neared the object, Gandalf stopped and lurched, as if blinded.

'Gandalf? Are you alright?' said the hobbit, anxious enough as it was. Ember hurried to the wizard's side to steady him. She glanced at the ring and wondered how dangerous it would be to make the same attempt. Simply by sitting there it exuded something ominous - she decided against it.

'Bilbo must have dropped it on his way out,' murmured Frodo. He bent down to pick it up himself, cautiously at first, but then had it in his hands without any trouble whatsoever.

'I don't understand. He's never without it. How could he miss it so easily? Oh, where _has_ he gone?'

'He's gone to stay with the Elves,' said Gandalf, blinking himself back into composure. From the mantelpiece he offered an empty envelope to Frodo. He looked understandably confused, but took Gandalf's hint all the same and slipped the ring inside. Gandalf promptly sealed it within the paper folds. 'Furthermore, he's left you Bag End, along with all his possessions. The ring is yours now. Put it somewhere out of sight.'

With that, Gandalf swept his cloak and pointy hat off Bilbo's stand in the hall. Ember frowned, unsure of his motivations, and whether she should be following.

'Where are you going?' said Frodo, his befuddlement increasing.

'There are some things we must see to.'

'We? Oh…' Ember, having only the white clothes and blue cloak on her back, went to the door with Gandalf. She wanted to resist and stay put in one place for more than ten minutes, but then again, what answers or solace would she find in an unfamiliar hobbit hole?

'What things?' asked Frodo.

'Questions,' replied Gandalf, taking up his staff, 'Questions that need answering.'

'But you've only just arrived! You haven't even introduced me to your companion…I don't understand.'

'Neither do I,' muttered Ember, speaking her first words before Frodo.

'Nor I,' said Gandalf, to their mutual surprise. 'As for my companion, I do apologise, but worry not - there will be plenty of chance for introductions in the future.' With one hand on the door, he turned back to Frodo, eyeing the envelope in his small hands. 'Keep it secret,' he said, with a mixture of encouragement and severity. 'Keep it safe.'

Then off into the night they went.

 **A/N:** Woo, first chapter! *confetti* I hope you've all enjoyed the beginning of the third volume in the _Stars and Fire_ series. If so, please make my day by leaving a review, and if not, tell me how I can improve by leaving a review anyway! Next chapter will be up in just 24 hours, how exciting. Until then, readers!


	2. The Archives

**Chapter Two**

 **The Archives**

'I hope you're not under the mistaken impression that gallivanting off to a distant city will delay the rest of our conversation indefinitely.'

'Certainly not!' Gandalf said over winds that rushed through the hillsides. 'You will get your answers, dear Ember, once we have seen to this.'

They had been riding on a single strong horse since the small hours; Ember did not feel tired in the slightest. She continued to observe the changing colours of the sky as though having woken from a full night's sleep.

'Not that you've elaborated on what "this" is, exactly.'

'I am almost certain that the ring Bilbo has kept in the Shire for the last sixty years has a dark history to its metal. But the consequences of having that estimation confirmed are severe enough to warrant investigation. There must be no room whatsoever for doubt.'

As they galloped to the crest of the tallest hill thus encountered, Gandalf and Ember caught sight of a faraway mountain…No, not a mountain - a volcano, casting molten orange and grey ash into the air. Ember tensed her jaw as images of Smaug flashed across her mind. Orange was once a colour she liked - not so anymore.

'Is that usual for these lands?' she asked over the volcano's distant roar.

'No,' said Gandalf, 'It is not. We must hurry on.'

She watched, her white hair swept constantly back by the horse's propulsion, as a city emerged from the face of a mountain range. She had never seen anything like this architecture, not even in the illustrations of childhood storybooks. An entire city composed of levels stacked one on top of the other to dizzying heights, adorned with spotless towers and turrets, thriving with people.

'Minas Tirith,' Gandalf announced as they neared the front gates, 'The most powerful kingdom in all of Gondor. And home to the most extensive library.'

The horse's hooves clattered on white cobblestone roads that wound through the labyrinthine city, right to the uppermost levels. Ember could feel the stares of city dwellers as she, a ghost against the dusk, dashed by on a horse steered by a tall elderly wizard. Only a trail of fireworks could have made them more conspicuous. But Gandalf seemed not to hold subtlety as a high priority at this time.

When they finally descended from the horse and left him in a stable, Ember felt underwhelmed: Gandalf had rhapsodized about the vast caverns of Minas Tirith's archives all the way here, and what did they now stand before? A single oak door, barely high enough to accommodate Ember, let alone Gandalf and his hat.

'I would expect such a famous library to have a…grander entrance.'

'It is not the presentation that makes a thing grand,' said Gandalf, as he rapped an iron knocker against the wood, 'But its contents.'

An eyeslot slid open on the other side, before the whole door was unlocked to reveal a small woman in long pine green robes, who Ember instantly labelled in her head as 'aging gracefully'. At first nothing was said. The woman stared at them for several long seconds, Ember in particular, eyes almost glazing over. Only the faintest evening breeze through her grey hair indicated that she hadn't been petrified into a statue.

'Welcome,' she said suddenly, standing to one side so Ember and Gandalf could walk through into a stone atrium. 'Welcome to the library.'

'Good evening my lady,' said Gandalf, hat already removed, 'We are here on urgent academic business to seek one text in particular: _The Last Account of Isildur_.'

' _The Last Account of Isildur_ ,' repeated the librarian. 'Yes, we have it, although I am afraid, unbound.'

'As long as it is readable, that will be no trouble to us.'

The little woman nodded, taking up a torch from a wall sconce. Her voice was pleasantly clear and bright, unencumbered by age.

'If you'll follow me.'

The three of them descended a winding stone staircase that, at least to Ember, went on for miles. Eventually, in the musky damp air unique to underground archives, they reached the bottom floor. Now Ember saw what Gandalf meant by vast caverns - bookshelves stretched into the dark distance, obscuring any eventual walls the room might be said to have. Stacks of tomes sat on the floor like pillars, some collecting dust, others with fresh wine stains from being used as makeshift coasters. At this the librarian tutted.

'Let us see,' she muttered, scanning the nearest shelves with the flame of her torch. She held up the long stick surprisingly well for someone with such thin arms. 'Isildur…Isildur…Did you have a specific translation in mind, sir?'

'I was not aware of there being more than one,' said Gandalf, 'But I am quite proficient in all the tongues of Middle Earth - any will do.'

'We keep as many translations of heralded works as possible,' said the woman, reaching in the gap between books and shelf, 'And produce a great many more. Keeps the mind sharp, you see.'

'Yes, quite.'

'Ah!' she exclaimed. Her hand disturbed dust from a stack of well-worn parchments. She placed them reverently in Ember's hands. 'Here we are: this may well be more than the _Last Account_ , but look through the pages and you are sure to find what you seek.'

'Thank you kindly,' said Gandalf.

'Is there anything else I might do for you? How long do you intend to stay?'

'Some water would do wonders,' said Ember, 'If it's not too much trouble,' she added, thinking of all those stairs.

'Oh no, of course,' replied the librarian, looking positively enraptured by their conversation, 'I would be more than happy to…and you sir?'

'Some wine, I think,' said Gandalf, exchanging a look with Ember. 'We may be here some time.'

After an informal clinking of their goblets, Ember and Gandalf settled into a long evening of reading. Even halved between them, the papers that made up the _Last Account of Isildur_ were numerous, in dense blocks of calligraphy whose full meaning required several read-throughs to be ascertained. They sat in silence, steadily consuming their drinks. Smoke trailed from Gandalf's pipe and infused the parchment. Suddenly Ember held one long page up to the candlelight.

'Gandalf,' she whispered, 'I think I have it!'

'Do you?' said the wizard, leaning forward in his chair. He tested the words aloud:

' "The Year thirty-four thirty-four of the Second Age. Here follows the account of Isildur, High King of Gondor and the finding of the Ring of Power." '

' "It has come to me, the One Ring,' continued Ember. 'It shall be an heirloom of my kingdom. All those in my bloodline shall be bound to its fate, for I will risk no hurt to the Ring. It is precious to me, though I buy it with great pain…" '

' "The markings on the band begin to fade. The writing, which at first was as clear as red flame, has all but disappeared. A secret now that only fire can tell." '

At the bottom, in much larger writing, were the markings Isildur described. The characters were sleek but pointed, like intertwining thorns.

'Do you know what it means?'

'It is difficult,' said Gandalf. 'This is Black Speech. I have not seen such writing for decades, and I avoid uttering it whenever possible.'

'Perhaps there is some other book we can use to help translate,' suggested Ember, 'Otherwise we could be missing out on some crucial information.'

'Very well,' nodded Gandalf. 'I will see what these shelves have to offer. In the meantime, could you request a new candle? The wax of this one is all but a puddle.'

'Of course.'

The wizard and the witch returned to their table at the same time, approximately five minutes later. Ember carried a new candle; Gandalf carried nothing.

'No luck?'

'I was not expecting any,' replied Gandalf. 'There are so few living outside of Mordor who are familiar enough with Black Speech to compose a decent index of the language. I for one would not even feel at ease about reading such a book in any case.'

Ember sighed, moving to replace the candle. As soon as she lit the new one, her eyes landed on something sitting on the scattered pages of Isildur's writings.

'Gandalf…this wasn't here when we left.'

She held up a single slip of paper between her fingers. The ink was fresh:

 _ **"**_ _ **One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them."**_

They looked to all visible corners of the room - not another soul was present in the library. Ember stared at Gandalf, and he stared back. Wordlessly she folded the slip of paper in two and put it in the front pocket of her white shirt.

'I think we should return,' said Ember, before adding, 'With haste.'

'We think alike,' said Gandalf. They downed the last dregs of drink, shuffled the various pages back into a vaguely neat stack, and swept themselves up the winding staircase.

The librarian waited until their footsteps faded to emerge from the shadows.

 **A/N:** ****Duh-duh-duuuuhhhhhh...Hope that was to your liking, if so please leave a review. I like getting to know all my readers a little better! Otherwise, until next time!


	3. Shadow of the Future

**Chapter Three**

 **Shadow of the Future**

'Goodnight Sam.'

'Goodnight Mister Frodo.'

The two hobbits parted ways at Frodo's front gate, the night air still after a comfortable evening of drinks at The Green Dragon. Frodo strolled up the path to Bilbo's - _his_ \- front door. It was still strange to him, the thought that despite his youth, he was the legal homeowner of Bag End. He may have begun adulthood now, but it was all so much so soon: Bilbo's departure, Gandalf's cryptic business with the ring, and that mysterious woman in white.

He knew something wasn't right the moment he opened the door into the unlit hallway. There was a draught blowing from the left - papers slid over one another on the table in front of quietly fluttering curtains. He didn't remember leaving the windows open.

Frodo stood very still exactly where he was and looked down the hall, wary of even breathing loudly. He gasped at the hand that appeared on his shoulder, but reined in any further cries, as it immediately turned out to be a disheveled, wild-eyed Gandalf, and his companion. Both stared at the hobbit as though he were an oracle who held the answers to life's most important questions.

'Is it secret?' whispered Gandalf, as Ember hastily shut the front door, 'Is it safe?!'

Frodo, never having seen the wizard so anxious, obediently moved to the chest of knick-knacks by the kitchen. He rummaged around for the object he hadn't thought about in days. Gandalf flinched, unable to let his guard down. Not even the quietest rustle of leaves could escape suspicion.

'Ah!' No sooner had Frodo fetched the creased envelope than Gandalf had snatched it and thrown it in the air. 'What are you - '

Frodo lost his words when Ember held up a palm and, without so much as a blink, enclosed the envelope in a fireball. The hobbit stared slack-jawed at this display - the closest to real magic he'd ever seen was in Gandalf's fireworks. This was something else entirely.

In no time at all, the paper had burned away to reveal the ring. Ember moved her hand a fraction, and the flames vanished. The ring she left suspended in mid-air; her eyes moved to the hobbit.

'Hold out your hand, Frodo,' she said, her first words to him. 'It's quite cool.'

As reluctant as he was to obey, Frodo opened his hand and let the witch float it down to him. He blinked in surprise - the metal _was_ cool to the touch.

'Can you see anything?' asked Gandalf, stepping into the living room. Frodo turned the ring over between his thumbs.

'Nothing,' he said, unsure of whether this was some failure on his part. 'There's nothing.'

As Ember joined Gandalf in the living room, she caught the relief that spread across his face. She herself was about to sigh, when the hobbit spoke up again.

'Wait. There are markings.'

Ember and Gandalf turned slowly to each other and exchanged looks of creeping dread.

'It's some form of Elvish,' Frodo went on. 'I can't read it.'

'There are few who can,' said Gandalf. 'The language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here.'

'Mordor?'

'We were lucky enough to get a translation into the common tongue,' said Ember, the words imprinted on her mind: ' "One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them." '

'One Ring?' echoed Frodo. 'This ring? To rule who? Who are "they"? This is all so baffling…'

'I know, dear Frodo,' said Gandalf, regarding the ring more warily than ever before. 'Perhaps we should all sit down with a pot of tea and lay out exactly what we know.'

Five minutes later, the three of them were in the kitchen: Gandalf on one side of the table, next to Ember, both casting glances at the ring, which sat just out of reach. Frodo poured the tea before sitting down himself.

'This is the One Ring,' said Gandalf, 'Forged by the Dark Lord Sauron, in the fires of Mount Doom. Taken by Isildur from the hand of Sauron himself.'

Frodo frowned, clarity dawning in his blue eyes.

'Bilbo found it, in Gollum's cave.'

'Yes. For sixty years the Ring lay quiet in Bilbo's keeping, prolonging his life, delaying his old age. But no longer, Frodo. Evil is stirring in Mordor. The Ring has awoken. It's heard its master's call.'

'But it was destroyed,' said Frodo. 'Sauron was destroyed.'

At that moment, as if it had ears to listen with, the Ring sent out a whisper. It was remarkable how much power a few syllables of incomprehensible Black Speech had over the room: Frodo, Gandalf and Ember stared at the Ring, wide-eyed and frightened.

'No Frodo,' said Ember softly. 'The spirit of Sauron lives. His life force is bound to the Ring, and the Ring has survived.'

'Sauron has returned,' said Gandalf. 'His Orcs have multiplied. His fortress at Barad-Dûr is rebuilt in the land of Mordor. Sauron needs only this ring to cover all the lands with a second darkness.'

'All his thoughts are bent on seeking it,' said Ember, 'And the Ring yearns for nothing more than to return to its master.' She had forgotten that during her possession, Cauna had stolen Astra's pastsight for herself, leaving it in Ember when Gandalf defeated her. She didn't even have to touch the Ring to know that it felt things just as if it lived and breathed. 'The Ring and the Dark Lord are one. Frodo, we tell you here and now that he must _never_ find it.'

Frodo rose at once from the table and closed his fist around the ring.

'Alright,' he said decisively, 'We put it away. We keep it hidden. We never speak of it again. No one knows it's here, do they…' The moment he qualified the statement with a doubt, his voice lost all surety. 'Do they?'

'Remember,' said Ember gravely, getting up from the table. 'There is one other who knew the true nature of the Ring, and that Bilbo had it.'

'We searched with all our combined powers of sight for the creature Gollum,' sighed Gandalf. They followed Frodo out of the kitchen and into the hallway. 'But all we foresaw was that the enemy would, and most likely have by now, found him first.'

'I don't know how long they will torture him,' said Ember, 'But in my vision, from the endless screams and babble, they'll draw two words: "Shire" and "Baggins".'

'But that would lead them here!' exclaimed Frodo. He looked at the Ring with a new level of fear. 'Take it!' he said suddenly, holding it closely to the two companions, 'One of you, take it!'

'No Frodo,' said Ember, stepping back.

'You must take it!'

'You cannot offer us this ring,' said Gandalf, clenching his fists.

'I am giving it to you!'

'Don't _tempt_ me, Frodo!' snapped the wizard. His eyes had never been so full of terror.

'We dare not take it,' said Ember, rubbing her arms to occupy them, 'Not even to keep it safe. We might begin with good intentions, but _through us_ , the Ring would wield a power too great and terrible to imagine. I of all people should know.'

'But it cannot stay in the Shire!' Frodo insisted, desperate.

'No,' said Gandalf, 'No it can't.'

In the pause that followed, Frodo understood. He was never destined to be a mere observer in this mystery. He swallowed his remaining anxiety and closed his fingers over the Ring, looking at Gandalf and Ember in turn.

'What must I do?'


	4. Staying Secret

**Chapter Four**

 **Staying Secret**

'You must leave, and leave quickly.'

Gandalf followed Frodo as he hurried about Bag End, stuffing essentials into a pack. Ember stayed in the hall, unsure of what she could do that would be helpful.

'Where? Where do I go?'

'Ember will accompany you out of the Shire. Make for the village of Bree.'

'Bree,' Frodo repeated to himself.

'And where will you be?' asked Ember, stepping back into the firelight. She spoke calmly to Gandalf, but with a stern glare. 'I don't know if I can stand being left without direction, again.'

'I'll be waiting for you both,' said Gandalf, a hand on her shoulder, 'At the Inn of the Prancing Pony.'

'A village inn? How secure,' she said dryly.

'Will the Ring be safe there?' asked Frodo. He didn't dare risk putting it on his finger, so he secured it on a chain around his neck. That way it could also be concealed beneath his shirt.

'I do not know,' replied the wizard, which was the last thing either of them had expected him to say. 'Not all answers are at my disposal. I must see the head of my order. He is both wise and powerful.'

 _And likely not yet aware of me_ , Ember thought. In the time she'd known him, Gandalf had hardly mentioned the existence of the other wizards in his order.

'Trust me,' Gandalf added, 'He'll know what to do. Frodo, you'll have to leave the name of Baggins behind you, for that name is not safe outside the Shire.' Gandalf helped the hobbit into a green cloak, light enough to move quickly, and thick enough to stay warm at the colder points of night. 'Travel only by day. And stay off the road.'

'We can cut across country easily enough,' said Frodo, making sure he had absolutely everything he was capable of carrying on his person. He stood before Gandalf and Ember as if to say, 'how do I look?'

'My dear Frodo,' smiled Gandalf. 'Hobbits really are amazing creatures. You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years, they can still surprise you.'

Ember was about to say the same of Bilbo as she last saw him, but her attention was diverted by a loud rustling of leaves.

'Get down!' she hissed, sliding against the nearest wall.

Frodo all but dropped like a pancake to the floor, eyes wide. Gandalf took up his staff and slowly approached the living room window, half-open onto a mild evening breeze. He skimmed the tops of the bushes below before giving them a sudden and certain _whack_.

'Oof!' came a cry, from another hobbit no less. Ember stepped protectively in front of Frodo as Gandalf yanked the small creature through the window and pinned him to the table. Papers and pencils rolled onto the floor in the commotion.

'Confound it all, Samwise Gamgee!' shouted Gandalf, 'Have you been eavesdropping?'

'I weren't dropping no eaves sir, honest,' replied the hobbit, paralysed by fright. 'I was just cutting the grass under the window there, if you follow me.'

Ember frowned and walked right over to the table. He looked even more startled when her white face and dark eyes suddenly appeared directly over him.

'A bit late for gardening, don't you think?'

'Who are you?!'

'Never mind that,' said Ember. He didn't look harmless, but then that was no sure indication of innocence. 'What are you playing at?'

'I heard raised voices.'

'What did you hear?' Gandalf pressed. 'Speak!'

'N-n-nothing important,' the hobbit squeaked, adding, 'That is I-heard-a-good-deal-about-a-Ring-and-a-Dark-Lord-and-something-about-the-end-of-the-world, but…Please Mister Gandalf sir, don't hurt me. Don't turn me into anythin' - unnatural.'

'No?' said Gandalf, still irritated, but now a touch amused. 'Perhaps not. I have thought of a better use for you.'

The hobbit could only knit his brows as Gandalf and Frodo exchanged a conspiratorial glance. Ember knew only one conclusion could be inferred: _Brilliant. Now I'm the keeper of_ two _hobbits._

 **A/N:** Hey guys, I know some of these chapters are short, but they should grow as the story goes on. Meantime, if there's anything you'd like to see more of in my AU narrative, don't hesitate to leave a review or drop me a message with suggestions. My top priority = your reading enjoyment!


	5. Leaving the Nest

**Chapter Five**

 **Leaving the Nest**

'Keep up Samwise,' said Gandalf over his shoulder, 'Lest you wish to reach the borders of the Shire by _next_ spring.'

The poor chubby hobbit puffed out his exertion behind Frodo, Gandalf and Ember as sun eked out over the farmland horizon. His limbs clinked and clanked from the weight of cooking utensils on strings. Gandalf was the only member of their odd company with a horse, which he gently brought to a halt when the four of them reached the edge of a thick forest, perfect for private farewells and last-minute instructions.

'Be careful, all of you,' said the wizard. 'The enemy has many spies at his service - birds, beasts. Frodo, is it safe?' The young hobbit patted the centre of his vest. 'Never put it on, for the agents of the Dark Lord will be drawn to its power.'

'We must remember, the Ring _wants_ to be found,' said Ember.

They watched as Gandalf put distance between himself and their heads from atop his horse. He looked at Sam, Frodo and Ember in turn.

'I shall see you all very soon. Stay out of trouble, and keep a cool head at all times.' To Ember in particular, he added a sheepish, 'We will see each other again in no time.'

'See you anon,' said Frodo, waving. When the wizard trotted out of sight through the trees, the hobbit turned around and ventured forward on his walking stick. 'I suppose there's nothing left to say but, "off we go".'

And off they went. Sometimes in single file, sometimes in a row of three, Ember, Sam and Frodo trekked through the Shire's meadows, across its streams, and over its hills. When they reached a cornfield, Ember almost ran into Sam as he came to a slow and thoughtful halt.

'This is it.'

Frodo also stopped, and turned around.

'This is what?'

'I take one more step, it'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been.'

Ember saw the look of an apprehensive boy in Sam's face, and gingerly patted his shoulder. Frodo gave a sympathetic smile and cocked his head forward.

'Come on Sam.'

As they pressed on, Ember wondered when exactly she had experienced such a moment when first she set out with Thorin's company. She recalled being too swept up in the thrill of galloping with Kili, her arms tight around his waist, to notice just how quickly her home disappeared into the distance.

They set up camp for their first night by a large tree. The air, cool and mild, carried the wafting scent of bacon, tomatoes and sausages sizzling away in Sam's pan over a modest fire. While he tended to the food, Frodo lay in a tree limb, staring through leaves at nothing in particular. Ember sat at the base among its roots.

At first, she mistook the lilting, melodious notes coming from somewhere in the distance for evening birdsong, but the more Ember paid attention, the more she realised it was something else entirely.

'Listen,' she said. 'Do you hear that?'

Sam took the food off the fire to concentrate. Then his whole face lit up with wonder and excitement.

'Wood-elves!'

As soon as the breathless words left his lips, Sam and Frodo leapt to their feet and ran in the direction of the soothing voices. Ember hurried after them like a mother trying to keep her children from running off a cliff.

She found them peeking over the top of a ridge, watching a quietly breathtaking procession of Elves. Ember watched with them, unseen: they were bathed in white, much as she had when the Arkenstone first fused with her. Some trotted slowly on horseback, while others walked in smooth, soundless strides. A few carried tall banners that rippled in a gentle breeze. A collective calm ran through the large company, like a river's perfect current.

'I didn't know Elves were ones for extended travelling,' Ember remarked quietly.

'They're going to the harbor beyond the White Towers,' said Sam, 'To the Grey Havens.'

'Leaving Middle Earth,' said Frodo.

'Never to return.'

'I don't know why,' sighed Frodo, 'It makes me sad.'

'It must be a respite for them,' said Ember, thinking aloud. 'Creatures from all over Middle Earth always revere immortality as the highest prize, but I don't believe it is. To know there is no end coming…existence must become exhausting. I don't know how they cope.'

Frodo looked at her and frowned in thought, but said nothing. The three of them continued watching until the procession disappeared from sight. Then they headed back to their base camp.

The pleasantness of the meal was counteracted by the difficulty they encountered in getting to sleep on the forest floor.

'Everywhere I lie there's a dirty great root sticking into my back,' grumbled Sam, tossing and turning.

'Just shut your eyes,' Frodo said drowsily, 'And imagine you're back in your own bed, with a soft mattress and a lovely feather pillow.'

Ember heard Sam go still for a grand total of ten seconds.

'It's not working Mister Frodo. I'm never going to be able to sleep out here.'

'Me neither, Sam,' Frodo sighed.

'I suspect I never will again,' said Ember, lying on her back with a knee pointed to the sky. 'At least the stars are in full view.'

It wasn't mere insomnia talking - if the Arkenstone did not need sleep, why would she? If the hobbits had been gifted (or cursed) in the same way, they might have made it to the Prancing Pony in half the predicted time. But as long as they needed rest, Ember would oblige. Besides, it was still helpful to re-organise all the thoughts in her brain that had become so messy and scattered after falling through time. She liked having this moment of peace, to think of someone whose death had escaped her memory until Gandalf had reminded her.

Ember had only to turn away from the hobbits and onto her side to see Kili facing her, resting on his elbow, wearing exactly the same colours: white tunic, white trousers, and white boots, with his familiar blue cloak. They stared serenely at each other, accepting this as a completely normal situation. His smile warmed her inside better than any campfire.

 _I was not aware your magic could summon my ghost back to Middle Earth_

 _It didn't_. _I believe the person before me is partly your ghost, partly my own memory. Even I couldn't exercise that much power_

 _Well, whatever I am, I am here with you_

 _Short of being able to reach out and touch your face, nothing could bring me greater comfort_

Kili stayed close to Ember until, from relaxation rather than exhaustion, she fell into the lightest slumber. As night greeted dawn, when she opened her eyes, he was gone.

Later that morning, they were traversing through yet another cornfield , nearing the borders of the Shire, when at some point Sam managed to get separated from Frodo and Ember. At the sight of nothing but uniform strips of yellow, the hobbit called out in panic:

'Mister Frodo? Miss Ember? Frodo!'

'Sam?'

As if having turned the corner of a market stall, Frodo appeared from the sea of corn with Ember just behind. Sam visibly deflated with relief.

'I thought I'd lost you.'

'Whatever are you talking about?' said Frodo. They stood in the narrow aisle between corn sections.

'It's just something Gandalf said: "Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee!" And I don't mean to.'

Frodo tilted his head and smiled, amused and touched in equal parts.

'Sam, we're still in the Shire, with a _witch_ on our side no less. What could possibly happen?'

As he uttered these words, however, Ember foresaw (or rather, foresensed) exactly what could possibly happen. She took a swift step to the right.

'Oof!' Frodo spluttered as another hobbit came flying out of the corn and knocked straight into him. Two seconds later, the same thing happened to Sam. Both intruders spilled their armfuls of recently uprooted vegetables over the earth floor. The one who had crashed into Frodo shook his head from daze and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

'Frodo? Merry, it's Frodo Baggins!'

'Hello Frodo!' said the hobbit called Merry. His friend turned to Ember, tall, mysterious, and near-blinding in the sunlight.

'And…who's _this_?'

'Get off him!' huffed Sam from the ground. Ember helped them both up by the elbows.

'Frodo, are you alright?'

'What's the meaning of this?' he exclaimed. Merry gathered up his share of vegetables and dumped them into Sam's arms.

'Hold these.'

'You've been into Farmer Maggot's crop!' said Sam, aghast.

From a way off in the depths of corn, a dog barked viciously enough to alarm everyone at the same time. A growling, grumbling voice with a bobbing scythe in tow set Ember and the four hobbits sprinting through the fields.

'Don't know why he's so upset,' panted Merry, 'It's only a couple of carrots.'

'And some cabbages,' added his friend, 'And those bags of potatoes that we lifted last week - and the mushrooms the week before!'

'Yes Pippin, _my point is_ , he's clearly overreactin'!'

It seemed as though the corn would never end, when suddenly it did - and too soon. Ember, with the longest legs of the group, was the unfortunate first to skid against the edge of a gorge and waver in the air, before tumbling down below with a shriek. Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin tried to stop from going over, but the laws of gravity worked against them as they collided with one another. They were rolling painfully down not long after. Ember just managed to regain her bearings long enough to move, avoiding the hobbits who ended up in a heap at the foot of the steep hill.

'Ooh, that was close!' said Pippin, in the most upbeat groan Ember had ever heard. Merry winced and reached under his back.

'I think I've broken something.'

'Be grateful it was a carrot and not your spine,' said Ember, forcing herself up with faintly sore muscles and getting an unpleasant flashback from Mirkwood. 'Why do I always end up tumbling down a slope some place or another?'

'Trust a Brandybuck and a Took!' said Sam, rolling his eyes.

'What?' said Merry. 'That was just a detour, a shortcut.'

'A shortcut to what?'

'Mushrooms!' Pippin exclaimed, scampering towards a cluster of funghi on the roadside.

The roadside. Ember had not even noticed that was where they'd ended up. She'd also failed to see dead leaves skittering in frantic circles towards them on an unexpected icy wind…in spring.

'We need to get off this road…' she said to Frodo, who seemed to be experiencing the same disturbance. 'Now. Right now.'

' _Get off the road_!' he barked at the hobbits, who were quick to obey. Ember waited for them to scurry under an overhanging tree root before jumping down the side herself, waiting under another - at her height, trying to fit in with them was out of the question.

Not two breaths later, they all fell silent as the dead. Hooves sounded on the road above and, to Ember's horror, slowed to a halt directly beside their hiding places. Even Merry and Pippin were still. Ember's view was limited, but she glimpsed a skeletal hand curling over the hobbits' tree root, and the edges of a black cloak moving in time with an unnatural breath - it was more like a snake's hiss. Insects and earthworms wriggled anxiously out of their soil burrows, as though they knew what they needed to escape.

She thought the moment would never end, but Merry had the nouse to toss his sack of vegetables as far as it would go, away down the road. The Black Rider screeched and flinched, before disappearing like smoke vapour to follow the distraction.

They wasted no time - Ember, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin leapt forward and ran further down the slope without daring to look back.

'What was that?!' Merry half-cried, half-whispered.

'The stuff of nightmares,' Ember replied. They raced on. Ember and Frodo led the way, trying to follow the originally planned route as closely as possible.

They were still on the run even after night fell. Ember willed her breaths to be soundless as she and the hobbits ducked behind twisting trees. They all kept wary eyes on a Black Rider prowling in the distance, until it could no longer be distinguished from the dark.

'We have to leave the Shire,' Frodo whispered. 'Sam, Ember and I must get to Bree.'

'Right. Buckleberry Ferry,' said Merry, assuming serious responsibility. 'Follow me.'

Ember shepherded the hobbits from their hiding place and onto open ground, where they might escape the nightmarish forest. A shriek scorched the air. Ember and Frodo wheeled around in horror as a second rider appeared from the shadows.

'Run!' shouted Ember. 'All of you, run!'

The most she had done to test her magic since falling through time was creating a fireball for the ring. Whether it would work or not, she needed to pull out something much more powerful now.

The rider screeched and reared back as a lightning bolt struck the earth beneath its horse's hooves. At Frodo's cry, Ember quickly dealt another to the first rider, who had come back to the commotion. Both it and the steed toppled sideways before they had a chance to crush the hobbit.

'This way!' came Merry's voice. Ember yanked Frodo away by the hand, and he ran as fast as his legs could keep up with her. Merry, Pippin and Sam vaulted themselves over a fence, beyond which lay that small symbol of hope in the dark: a jetty. The three hobbits sprinted towards it and started urgently unlooping the ferry's ropes. Ember let Frodo haul himself over the fence before she took a running leap. It bought them precious seconds, but the second rider was practically biting their heels. Merry uncoiled the mooring rope while Pippin pushed the ferry off its jetty. Sam's eyes were wild with fear.

'Miss Ember!'

'Frodo, run!' yelled Pippin.

From where they were, the ferry seemed to drift away faster than Ember or Frodo could sprint. As earth changed to wood, their limbs felt heavy and clunking. Still, on the ferry or in the water, they were _not_ staying ashore. Frodo threw himself off the edge of the jetty and knocked his friends into a heap. Ember's left foot broke the water's surface while her right made it onto the ferry. Sam grabbed her arm in time to pull her safely on board.

'Are you alright?'

'Yes, yes, are you?'

'Been better,' gasped Sam. 'But we made it.'

'We've made it part of the way,' Ember muttered, her eyes locked on the two riders as they skidded against the shore, beaten by water's calm rippling cloak. She and the hobbits allowed themselves a moment of ecstatic relief under their raging adrenaline.

'How far to the nearest crossing?' asked Frodo.

'Brandywine Bridge,' replied Merry, pushing with a long oar. 'Twenty miles.'

 **A/N:** Two chapters in one day, whaaaaat


	6. The Sign and the Stranger

**Chapter Six**

 **The Sign and the Stranger**

 **A/N:** Can I just say I find it hilarious that I have more readers from the US and Australia than the UK - come on Brits, up your game and represent!

By the time they had docked the ferry, the night was well underway and blanketed in rain. With Kili's blue hood obscuring most of her face, Ember led the hobbits up to the dark town gate of Bree, slick with water.

It took thirty seconds of persistent knocking for an eye slot to finally slide back. A pair of old, hawkish eyes narrowed at Ember.

'What do you want?'

'We're heading for the Prancing Pony,' she replied at an androgynous pitch. The gatekeeper's eyes widened at the 'we' to whom Ember was referring.

'You got hobbits with you,' he exclaimed. 'Four hobbits! What business brings you to Bree?'

'We simply wish to rest awhile,' she replied. 'Our business is not up for inquiry.'

'Alright stranger, I meant no offence,' he said, fumbling with locks and bolts behind the door. 'Tis my job to ask questions after nightfall.' He opened the gate and allowed the five travellers to pass through. 'There's talk of strange folk abroad. Can't be too careful.'

'Well,' said Ember, briefly glancing back, 'I am glad you don't think us strange.'

The only direction was up: Bree lay sloping on a hill of cobbled paths, beginning with quiet houses before leading into more crowded stables, taverns, and closed market stalls. Rain continued pouring in buckets, distracting the hobbits from finding the sign for the Prancing Pony. Because of their small size, they found themselves jostled and pushed about by men twice their size (and half as polite). One bulky man in a grey cloak almost barreled Frodo over.

'Watch where you're going.'

'Leave off,' Ember muttered. She wondered if they'd missed the sign somewhere along the way, but then in the glow of an oil lantern, there it was: a painted white horse on a waterlogged wooden square.

The inn was deliciously warm inside, full of rich scents from food and drink. It was also full of talk, so crowded with men and hobbits of all kinds. Exposure was the price they had to pay for some level of comfort. Ember in particular was reluctant to pull down her hood, knowing her head of white hair would be likely to shock. She tugged it up just enough to show her face.

'Come, I'll inquire as to where Gandalf's sitting.' She and the hobbits congregated at the front desk, where a man with curly grey hair scribbled some notes in the margin of a register. 'Excuse me.'

'Good evening…' he began, faltering when he looked up at Ember, '…dear guest.'

'Good evening to you, sir.'

'Are the hobbits in your company? We've got some nice, cozy hobbit-sized rooms available.' Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin nodded very agreeably. 'May I take your name and one other?'

'Of course,' said Ember, 'Darell.'

She glanced down at Frodo, who stood beside her. His head did not even reach the desk. He had to crane on his tiptoes to be seen or heard.

'And you, sir?'

'Underhill. My name's Underhill.'

'Underhill, yes…'

The innkeeper took down their names, but with an air of suspicion. Ember strongly sensed that years of experience had made this man attuned to the facades and false identities strangers might expect him to take for truth. She also pulled a name out of him - Tom.

'We're friends of Gandalf the Grey,' piped up Frodo.

'Could you let him know we've arrived, please?' said Ember.

'Gandalf?' the innkeeper repeated. His eyes moved up to think. 'Gandalf…Oh _yes_ , I remember - elderly chap, big grey beard, pointy hat?'

'Yes, that's right,' Ember nodded, more at ease. 'Whereabouts is he sitting? Or is he up in a room of his own?'

The innkeeper's expression changed. He shrugged.

'I've not seen him for six months.'

Ember's face fell. She stayed calm, but felt the same worry that Frodo and the hobbits showed in their eyes. It didn't help that she then caught sight of a cloaked figure at a corner table who, had the lower half of his face not been visible, Ember would have mistaken for another Black Rider. Though she couldn't see where he looked, there was something about the stranger's stillness and solitude that unsettled her greatly. Ember turned from the desk and looked down at the hobbits. Sam tugged at the collar of his cloak.

'What do we do now?'

Ten minutes later, they had secured a table (more central than Ember would have liked) to use as a base for waiting, thinking, and steadying their nerves with a drink.

'He'll be here,' said Frodo, more to himself than anyone else. 'He'll come.'

'I should have known this would happen,' said Ember. She shook her head and sipped her wine with a tight jaw. 'I swear on my own tombstone I will never trust a wizard again.'

'Again?' Pippin parroted, before getting distracted by something else: Merry, sliding a mug of beer onto the table the size of his own head. Pippin was nothing short of astounded.

'What is _that_?'

'This, my friend,' said Merry, grinning, 'Is a pint.'

'It comes in pints?' said Pippin, looking at his own much smaller portion. 'I'm getting one.'

'You've had a whole half already!' Sam protested, to no avail - his friend scampered back to the taps, squeezing between full-sized men to be served. Sam and Merry rolled their eyes. Ember kept hers on the stranger in the corner, still alone, still patiently smoking on a pipe, still angled towards them. Ember nudged Frodo in the elbow.

'That man,' she murmured, 'In the corner. He's done nothing but stare our way since we arrived.'

Frodo followed her line of sight and frowned. He left it another minute before beckoning Tom the innkeeper over.

'Excuse me? That man over there, who is he?'

Tom dropped his voice considerably.

'Him? He's one of 'em rangers. Dangerous folk they are, wandering the wilds. What his right name is I've never heard, but around here, he's known as Strider.'

'Strider,' Frodo and Ember repeated to themselves.

Ember kept up her staring contest with the ranger in question, despite being unable to make out his eyes in the shadows. He was too far away for her to draw any kind of information about his identity from him. And yet, for reasons she could not fathom, his name rang a bell somewhere in the shadowed recesses of her mind. Perhaps there were gaps in her memory from Erebor even Gandalf could not fill.

Elbows resting on the table, Frodo absent-mindedly turned the Ring over and over in his hands. Ember only re-focused her attention when she heard the same whispers he did. She felt cold glaze her skin at the hushed syllables that flickered from the Ring like a tongue of flame.

'Baggins?' They broke out of their trance at the same time. It was Pippin's voice, from the bar. He was conversing with some ambiguously mannered strangers and he had just _mentioned Frodo's name aloud._ 'Sure I know a Baggins. He's over there, Frodo Baggins. He's my second cousin once removed on his mother's side, and my third cousin twice removed on his father's side, if you follow me.'

'Pippin!'

Halfway through this babbling, Frodo did the instinctive thing and leapt from the table before Ember could suggest anything more discreet. He planted his hands on Pippin's shoulders and tried to pull him away from the bar.

'Steady on Frodo!' he exclaimed. Some beer slopped out of his mug and onto the floor, causing Frodo to lose his footing. Off its chain, he lost the Ring too - it flew into the air and came straight back down. Ember stood up from the table. She knew what was going to happen to Frodo as it had happened too many times with Bilbo: one moment he was on his back amongst strangers' feet, and the next, he had vanished. There was a collective gasp from the immediate circle of witnesses. Pippin gaped at where his cousin had stood. This was not something that could just be unseen. Ember swiftly cleared her mind to make room for intuition and foresight about what to do. In that moment, in her mind's eye, she saw Strider wait by the stairs to grab Frodo, who was about to crawl over there to get away from the scene he'd made. Her eyes darted to the stairs - the hooded ranger was not yet there.

While the rest of the inn was distracted by the disappearing act, Ember pulled her hood further over her face and swept towards the stairs. She silently ran up them and stationed herself at the top, just on the corner of a wall. Five seconds later, she heard scrabbling against the floor, Frodo's startled gasp, and a low, gruff admonition. When they were halfway up the stairs, Ember blocked Strider's path. Though his head was still covered, at last she saw his eyes: bewildered, but steely.

'One more step,' said Ember, 'And I'll see you flown out of the nearest window, broken glass a likelihood.'

'What are you doing?'

'Being responsible,' she replied, staring him down. 'If you intend to threaten the hobbit you'll have to answer to me first.' As thrown as he was by her presence, Strider was too determined to let Ember get in his way - he kept one hand on Frodo's arm and clasped the other around hers. 'Don't touch me!'

'I am on your side!' He herded them up the stairs and down the corridor. 'If my motives were anything but just, I would have dealt with Mr. "Underhill" already, now _please_ , get in here, quickly!'

Strider elbowed open a door to one of the rooms, low-lit and unoccupied. Ember shook herself free and held the hobbit close, arms shielding him.

'What do you want?' said Frodo, keeping as much fear out of his voice as he could.

'A little more caution from you' replied Strider. 'That is no trinket you carry.'

'I carry nothing!'

'Indeed.' He moved to the windows, extinguishing the candles before them with his fingers. 'I can avoid being seen if I wish. But to disappear entirely - that is a rare gift.'

He pulled down the hood of his cloak, revealing damp black hair and eyes as green as sun-scorched leaves.

'Who do you think you are?' said Ember. It was difficult to infer anything about this man other than his status as a lone wolf.

'Are you frightened?'

'Yes,' said Frodo. Ember said nothing.

'Not nearly frightened enough,' said Strider. 'I know what hunts you.'

Before he could elaborate, the door burst open. In the time it took to blink, the man drew his sword and stood tall in the face of Sam, Merry and Pippin.

'Let him go,' yelled Sam, his bare fists up. 'Or I'll have you Longshanks!'

Merry and Pippin were armed with a candelabra and a wooden chair - hardly the weapons of duels. Seeing the limited threat they presented, the stranger re-sheathed his sword and shook his head.

'You have a stout heart, little hobbit, but that will not save you. You can no longer wait for the other wizard, Frodo. They are coming.'

'They?' said Merry, lowering the candles. 'Who's "they"?'

'What do you mean "other" wizard?' said Pippin, before noticing Ember's face, taken aback. '…Oh. Well then.'

. . .

After he'd explained his plan to them, Ember and the hobbits had reluctantly agreed to stay in Strider's room, leaving the one they had claimed unoccupied. He suggested the hobbits sleep, offering his large bed for them to share. Ember declined his offer of a chair for her.

'I have no need of sleep, at least not tonight.'

'Neither do I,' said Strider. 'In which case we may both make use of the windowsill.' For a silent hour in the late night, they sat at opposite ends of the window, watching people leave and enter the inn. By the hour's end, the streets were empty and the rain gone. Strider steadily smoked his pipe. 'Have you any name, my lady?'

She wore a neutral expression.

'Why is that important to you?'

'Forgive me, I was only intrigued.'

'There's nothing to be forgiven,' she said. 'Although my own intrigue comes from your choosing to ask me, not what my name is, but if I have one at all.'

He took his pipe out from between his teeth, eyes taking in her face, her hair, and her white clothing.

'If you are the person I suspect you to be,' he said eventually, 'Then your reputation long precedes you. That reputation, however, is nameless. Hence my asking.'

Before Ember could answer him, the silence outside was disturbed by a storm of hooves up the cobbled path. There were no accompanying screeches, but Ember slid off the windowsill regardless. She peered through the corner of the window at not two, but _four_ black riders who dismounted their nightmarish beasts and forced their way into the Prancing Pony.

Until they turned the corner and moved through the hallway that connected the inn to its neighbouring house of rooms directly opposite, Ember held her breath. They were soundless, and in the dead of night they cast no shadows beneath the door, but she still sensed their passing. Everything in the air seized up with chill. Frodo awoke abruptly, as if having sensed their arrival too. Without words, he removed his part of the covers and sat at the foot of the bed, holding his knees. The three of them watched intently through the window as the black riders fell for the decoy Strider had planted: rather than four sleeping hobbits, all that lay in the beds for the riders to stab were four sets of pillows. A snowstorm of feathers flew around the room. The riders' frustration manifested itself in even louder screeches, startling the hobbits awake. They sat and listened to the retreat of the black riders, as they galloped back down Bree's central street and away into the night.

' _What_ are they?' asked Ember.

'They were once Men,' said Strider. 'Great kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of Power. Blinded by greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgûl - Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One, they will never stop hunting you.'


	7. Crying in the Night

**Chapter Seven**

 **Crying in the Night**

 **A/N:** And we're rollin' (rollin'), rollin' (rollin'), rollin' out the chapters, rollin' out the chapteeeeeeeeers...!

The residents of Bree were quietly shaken the next morning. The gatekeeper's crushed body had been found in the early hours, and Tom of the Prancing Pony knew not what to make of the wrecked pillows discovered in the empty hobbit ro0ms.

The hobbits themselves were outdoors, ready to leave. Strider stayed with them outside the fallen town gates. Frodo didn't know how to feel about this mysterious man - he hadn't slept the entire night, and yet looked more awake and alert than the rest of them.

'If I might ask, how did you come into her company?'

Frodo glanced back up the path; hooded once more, Ember was leading a newly purchased pony down the slope towards them.

'It was quite accidental, really,' he said. 'I was looking for my uncle in the house, and there she was, with Gandalf.'

'Are they close friends?'

'I honestly couldn't say. I feel as though if they were, I should have heard Bilbo mention her at some point in the past, but he never made even the slightest hint. In fact, he's never been one to talk about his past in great detail. I think he was just as surprised to find her in Bag End as I was. It's as if she appeared out of nowhere...and yet he trusts her greatly.'

'Trust is good,' Strider nodded, before adding, 'In moderation. It is how we survive. Do you trust her?'

Frodo didn't answer right away.

'I _think_ so. I have to. But the more I dwell on it, the more I realise just how little I know about her.'

'All in good time, Frodo,' said Strider, as Ember returned to their side with the brown pony. They saddled him with their bulkiest supplies, which made walking considerably easier. On their way out of Bree, up other hills, under gathering clouds, and through tunnels of trees, Merry and Pippin decided on a name for the pony: Bill.

'Like Bilbo,' said Frodo, smiling.

'Actually I was thinking more me great-uncle Bill on me mam's side,' said Pippin. 'But that works just as well.'

Mountains appeared in the distance, towering, grey, and unmovable.

'Where are you taking us?' asked Frodo. Strider looked to the sky as if it were a map.

'Into the wild.'

They walked for hours, taking turns to lead Bill the pony. Ember said very little, preferring to lose herself in thought while gazing upon on the lands they traversed. By early afternoon, she had fallen to the back of the group.

'How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?' Merry muttered to the other hobbits. Frodo seemed reasonably calm.

'I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer and feel fouler.'

'He's foul enough!' said Sam.

'We have no choice but to trust him,' said Frodo, 'And besides, we have Ember; she certainly is a friend of Gandalf's.'

'True,' said Sam, with a polite smile at the witch. He looked less favourably on the Ranger. 'But where is he leading us?'

'To Rivendell, Master Gamgee,' Strider answered unexpectedly, without looking back. 'To the House of Lord Elrond.'

'Rivendell?' said Ember, her first word in hours. She recalled that place from the dwarves' tale of their journey.

'Did you hear that?' said Sam, 'Rivendell! We're going to see the Elves!'

Ah. So she had heard about Rivendell even before the night she first met the dwarves, when her life was irrevocably changed. Her mother and father took turns reading to the girls from an illustrated children's history of Middle Earth. In those faded pictures, the Elves of Rivendell were drawn as refined, but somewhat mischievous. Having encountered the tough, ambivalent Elves of Mirkwood, Ember wondered how accurate a reflection that was. And whatever had happened to that picture book.

In the following days, the terrain they covered became snowier, as though icing sugar had fallen from the sky to coat all the earth.

'That would require an enormous sieve.'

'What?' said Strider. Ember blinked, unaware she'd just spoken aloud.

'Nothing,' she said.

'Speaking of sieves,' said Pippin. Ember and Strider turned at the clatter of pots and pans being taken off Bill. The hobbits looked ready to cook.

'Gentlemen, we do not stop 'til nightfall.'

'What about breakfast?'

Ember tilted her head at Pippin.

'We've already had it…?'

'We've had one, yes,' he said. 'But what about second breakfast?'

Ember and Strider exchanged A Look before starting to walk again.

'Hobbits…' they muttered.

'Don't think they know about second breakfast, Pip,' said Merry.

'What about elevenses?' he persisted. 'Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? They know about them, don't they?'

'I wouldn't count on it.'

'It's no wonder hobbits shy away from excursions,' said Strider as they ducked beneath leafless tree branches. 'They treat their needs and comforts as one and the same.'

It was then that Ember had a bright idea. She had a sufficient amount of energy to tighten her hands around an overhead branch and infuse it with quickened growth. Before the hobbits could catch up, they were almost concussed by flying apples.

'Ha!' Merry, Frodo and Sam were delighted; Pippin was simply shocked. Strider was quietly impressed.

The joy did not last all day, however. The further they pressed on, the rougher their terrain grew. Snowy forests devolved into thick, swampy marshlands, and the air grew green and heavy. The group had to fast acclimatise to trudging through mud and murky water dotted with weeds. Particularly with the extra burden of Bill the pony, it was slow-going.

'Gah,' Sam winced as he slapped another hungry midge against his neck.

When they got onto firmer soil, Ember held up an arm and slowly moved her pointed index finger in sweeping curves. At first no one could figure out what she was doing, but then the midges seemed to crash into thin air and die before reaching the hobbits.

'Did you just make a shield?' said Merry.

'Yes.'

'A hundred thanks.'

'You couldn't have done that for the Black Riders?' said Sam. Ember raised an eyebrow.

'Fending off tiny creatures isn't so taxing. Trying to put a barrier between just myself and a Rider, on the other hand, I am sure would be like trying to move a boulder with my foot.'

They made camp that night on ground that was somewhere between dry and wet. Strider disappeared into the darkness for half an hour and returned with a deer for their rations. After that, the hobbits curled up beneath their blankets to sleep as comfortably as they could manage. Once more, Strider stayed awake. He kept watch by the fire, but less vigilantly than on previous nights. Ember was also awake, but lay on her back to watch the stars and track the moon's slow ascent. She didn't notice Strider's humming right away, but when he softly sang Elvish poetry, Ember found herself unable to ignore it.

'What is that tune you sing?'

He didn't appear embarrassed by her audience. Simply sad.

'It is about the beauty of an Elf-maiden.'

'Any one maiden in particular?' she asked, sitting up.

''Tis the Lay of Luthien,' said Strider, keeping his voice low, 'The Elf-maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal.'

Ember gave nothing away in her expression.

'What happened to her?'

'She died.'

Strider calmly stoked the fire, in whose weak light his eyes shone. Ember hugged a knee to her chest and gazed at the stars again. She debated with herself for some moments about whether to tell him what she did:

'My first and only love was not of my kind.' Strider stared at her. 'I take it that escaped my preceding reputation,' she added.

'Does it pain you to speak of them?'

'…No,' said Ember, frowning. 'But that lack of pain seems to bring forth its own pain.'

Strider nodded, warming his hands over the flames.

'Who was your love?'

'A dwarf,' Ember replied. Strider could not help but look surprised. 'A very noble yet humble dwarf, with eyes like the darkest night surrounding stars.'

'What happened to him?'

She met Strider's stare, calm as a gliding kite.

'He died.' Strider looked as blue as the words sounded. 'I may not need sleep,' she said in the silence, 'But I feel like it nonetheless. Goodnight.'

'Goodnight,' he murmured.

Ember wrapped herself in her cloak and lay on her side, away from Strider and the hobbits. In her stillness, she sought out pain, some raw, burning, overdue emotion for Kili's death. For any of their deaths. For anything and everything that had happened. There was nothing but calm. Neither fire nor ice, merely water.

After her dreamless sleep, just as dawn was creeping into the sky, Ember saw him again, so close and so vivid. She said nothing, and neither did he. Ember stared into Kili's eyes until tears fell from her own, but only because she refused to blink.

. . .

The next day, they packed up and left the swamps behind for rockier lands. Strider made no reference to the previous night, for which Ember was grateful. She focused on putting one foot in front of the other, again and again and again, until they stopped at the foot of an immense hill, topped with stony ruins.

'What is this place?' asked Ember. She could have used some pastsight to learn its story, but if she didn't ask questions, making conversation would be that much more difficult.

'This was the great watchtower of Amon Sul,' said Strider. 'We shall rest here tonight.'

The weary hobbits were thoroughly relieved to hear this. Once they reached a hollow beneath the actual summit, they leisurely set up camp. While they took cookware and bedrolls from Bill, Strider drew their attention to a bundle of his own, hidden in the folds of his clothes. Ember peered over, intrigued, at the five swords he revealed to them. Four were short, almost dagger-sized. But the fifth was long, and glinted in the sunset.

'These are for you. Keep them close and stay here. I'm going to have a look around.'

'Thank you,' said Ember, sizing hers up. It felt lighter than a sword should, unless she had grown stronger, which was entirely possible. 'Would you like me to come with -'

But when she looked up, he was already climbing up and over the watchtower. Sam, Merry and Pippin marveled at their swords as small boys did with ones fashioned from wood; Frodo stared at his, intimidated.

'Do not worry yourself too much over using it,' said Ember. 'Just make sure the enemy is on the pointy end.'

It worked: he lay the sword on his bedroll with a light laugh. By the time night fell, Strider was still scouting, or at least Ember hoped he was. Were he to be captured and/or killed, it would be entirely down to her to lead the hobbits to Rivendell. Eventually, she left Merry on watch while the others slept, and climbed to the summit to have her own survey of the landscape, in case she might catch sign of Strider running in the distance. All that greeted her was blackness, blackness and more blackness, with some grey thrown in for contrast. The wind ruffled her white hair, but her skin was like armour for what little cold she felt. She would have lingered there awhile longer, when the hobbits' voices travelled up from below. And the crackling of a fire.

Ember dashed back to their camp, as alarmed and furious as Frodo, who had woken with a start at the sound of cooking.

'What are you doing?!'

'We saved some for you, Mister Frodo,' Sam said blithely.

'You fools,' said Ember, throwing looks at the dark lands beyond. 'We might have already been seen!'

'Put it out, put it out!'

Frodo frantically stomped with his resilient hobbit feet to starve the fire of air.

'Oh that's nice,' whined Pippin, 'Ash on my tomatoes!'

He hushed up, along with everyone else, as soon as a familiar screech poisoned their ears. It was like the cry of a demon from the deepest and nastiest depths.

'Well, as long as we're here,' said Ember, 'Draw your swords.'


	8. Dark and Light Hours

**Chapter Eight**

 **Dark and Light Hours**

 **A/N:** So I'm sure you can tell by now that I wrote these chapters a while back ("here's one I made earlier!"), then refining them for updates, because hey, why not? Once I catch up with myself however things will likely slow down a little, but hopefully not by much, don't worry! On we go...

While they all looked generally petrified, Frodo was the first to act on Ember's instructions. He drew his sword and made for the stone steps up to the summit of Amon Sul.

'Go!' he yelled. The hobbits leapt after him like ducklings after their mother in the face of an oncoming fox. They huddled in the centre of the summit, with Ember closer to the edge, as steeled for action as her sword. Her heart was calm enough, but the air around her seemed to swirl in an ominous frenzy. In the darkness, it was hard to tell the silhouettes of ruined pillars from those of the Nazgul. When five of them approached on foot with glinting swords of their own, however, their twisted forms were plain to see. They towered over the hobbits, who backed shakily away. Ember made a pre-emptive swing, clashing with one of the creatures to fend it off, but she only had so many arms - the other Nazgul prepared to attack the hobbits.

Sam tightened his mouth and imagined himself as a courageous warrior.

'Back you devils!' He flung himself forward, sword held high.

'Sam -' Ember started, but too late. He bashed into one Nazgul before being thrown aside, almost off the summit altogether.

Ember took a quick, deep breath to feed the sparks of energy in her, and felt flames kindle their way up her nerves before a fireball shot from her palm. It hurtled into the hood of the Nazgul who had collided with Sam, provoking a wild cry of pain. She was about to move to protect Frodo, but a cloaked arm put her in a freezing stranglehold. Seeing the glint of blade at her throat was enough to make Ember sink her nails into the skeletal Nazgul limb, and sear it with white heat. Meanwhile, Merry and Pippin valiantly tried to act as Frodo's shield, but they too were promptly thrown aside by the three remaining ghouls. They appeared unwilling to expend time or energy on killing anyone but the Ringbearer.

From shock, hopelessness, or both, Frodo dropped his sword and stumbled backwards. Ember wrestled one Nazgul away from the pack, but upon breaking through to snatch a long dagger off the leader, she leapt back, blinded by a burning pain in her hand. She stared at a long, dark grey patch in the middle of her palm, interrupted by the whiteness of her own bones and tendons. In five seconds, the wound had closed up and the pain had fled, but it left her reeling nonetheless. She turned to find Frodo, but he was suddenly nowhere.

 _The Ring._

'Frodo -'

Her knees buckled as the hilt of a sword came down on the back of her head. This injury caused her no sharp pain, but Ember still landed on the stone, dazed. All she could make sense of was Frodo's agonised shriek. Ember gasped and looked feverishly for the hobbit - that sound was like hearing the scream of an abandoned baby.

That was when Strider emerged from the shadows, ramming the remaining Nazgul with his sword and a flaming torch. More of their screeches poured into the sky like toxic fumes. The Ringwraith leader withdrew his dagger from what turned out to be Frodo, made visible once more. He struggled to keep his head up as he groaned in pain. Sam sprinted to his side.

To earn their freedom from the Nazgul, Strider and Ember dealt with the remaining three swiftly and ruthlessly: he stuck two of them with fire and sent them toppling over the edge of the summit. Ember conjured a bolt of lightning and threw it at the leader who had hurt Frodo. Though she knew they could not be killed so easily, it was more than enough to drive them back into the darkness.

'Help him!' cried Sam to them both, 'Please help him!'

Ember and the hobbits quickly joined him by Frodo. Strider picked up the deadly dagger by its hilt, which seemed free from poison or hex, and looked grave.

'He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade.' As he uttered the words, the metal dissolved on the wind. He looked pleadingly at Ember. 'This is beyond my skill to heal. Is there anything you can do?'

'I don't know,' she replied, laying a gentle hand on Frodo's stabbed shoulder. 'I can try...numbing the pain at least.'

'He needs Elvish medicine.'

'We have got to get out of here.'

With the injured hobbit over his shoulders, Strider led the group in a run down the summit. Ember kept a ball of fire hovering in the air to light the way. In the darkness beyond its reach, they could still hear the Nazgul.

. . .

'We're six days from Rivendell,' wailed Sam. 'He'll never make it!'

'Gandalf…' Frodo whimpered, slipping in and out of consciousness.

'Hold on Frodo!' said Ember. She looked over her shoulder every other second, expecting Nazgul to surround them without warning like demons from childhood nightmares. Like Cauna in the Westbrook woods, seven years ago (or more accurately, sixty-seven years ago). Ember shook the secondhand terror from her head.

'Gandalf!' the hobbit rasped louder.

They ran for what felt like hours during the night, finally taking refuge deep within a forest, amongst huge and grotesque stone statues.

'Look, Mister Frodo,' said Sam, trying to distract his friend from the pain, 'It's Mister Bilbo's trolls!'

'My word…' Ember breathed. She recalled again the tale of the dwarves' journey. Bilbo had taken breathless delight in recounting how they almost became a meal for the trolls who had come down from the Ettenmoors.

'Mister Frodo?' Sam lay a hand on the hobbit's forehead, alarmed. 'He's going cold!'

'Is he going to die?' asked Pippin. Ember was amazed that he, Merry and Sam should still be awake and coherent, having run for so long in such peril. It was easier for her and Strider - they were not made like other men and women.

'He is passing into the shadow world,' said Strider, somber as an undertaker. 'Soon he will become a wraith like them.'

'No,' said Ember, surprising herself with her bluntness. ' _No_. I won't let it happen.'

For the first time in an hour, there came a Nazgul screech from somewhere in the distance. To the horror of all, Frodo croaked out a response to it, his eyes heavily clouded.

'They're getting close,' said Merry. Ember blinked and knelt beside Frodo, brushing hair from her eyes.

'I can slow the poison, at least I think I can…'

She closed her eyes and rooted herself in memory - physical memory, of the lightness she felt upon returning to the world through the Arkenstone, memory of the power to destroy pain and calm chaos. Ember lay her hands on Frodo's wound as this memory flowed from her fingertips. She opened her eyes to watch her magic glow in the night. The hobbits stared reverently as Frodo, though still overcome, stopped writhing and rasping so much.

'Strider,' said Ember, 'If we have five wraiths on our heels, where are the other four to make up the total nine?'

'I am not sure,' he said, crouching beside her. 'Why are you asking?'

'Because I'm going to get him to Rivendell before next afternoon's sun.'

Strider stared at her.

'You cannot. The pony will not take you both anywhere near fast enough -'

'If I estimate correctly, I won't need the pony,' said Ember. 'Just a long branch.'

This being the last thing anyone had expected her to say, Sam, Merry and Pippin exchanged skeptical glances.

'My lady,' Strider persisted, 'It is too dangerous.'

Ember took her hands off Frodo, now calmer, to look Strider directly in the eye.

'I don't think you fully understand the danger I've already faced. I know what it is to be taken over by evil, to be chained to the bottom of a dark, cold ocean and be abandoned there. I would not wish that fate on anyone, especially not an innocent hobbit. I will send horses for you, but _you must let me go_.'

Strider was without reasonable retort. He looked again into the surrounding darkness before returning Ember's gaze.

'As you wish. May fortune follow you both.'

'Thank you,' she nodded, before barking, 'Sam, Merry, Pippin, get me the longest, sturdiest branch you can find, quickly now!'

Without straying too far from the stone trolls, they obeyed her instructions - in minutes each came back with armfuls of sticks. Ember speedily picked out the longest, toughest and weightiest one to perch on, heaving Frodo to sit up, head bowed, in front of her.

'I don't understand m'lady,' said Pippin, 'You're going to _fly_?'

'I did it once in another life,' said Ember, reaching over Frodo to grasp the branch, 'Surely, I can do it again.' She glanced at Strider and sent him a confident, reassuring look. 'We will see you in Rivendell.'

Ember threw all belief in herself onto the makeshift broomstick, kicked at the ground, and shot up through the treetops into the night. Frodo barely registered the change in gravity, so consumed he was by the poison of the Morgul dagger. She relied on a compass somewhere within her own powers to guide them in the direction of Rivendell. The wind roared in Ember's ears as night gradually turned to day, and the shadowy ground opened onto meadows, mountains and trees. It was late morning when she finally caught sight of all nine Nazgul pursuing her on horseback below. Higher than the tallest redwoods, she and Frodo were safe.

At least, for a while. When Ember looked left and right, she realised they were not the only travellers in the sky. Far off, flying at a slanted trajectory, there were three green winged dragons. Though nowhere near as threatening or powerful as Smaug had been, Ember knew better than to continue at such high altitude and risk a mid-air collision with fire-breathing serpents. Cursing, she leaned down on the branch and put herself and Frodo into a steady descent. The shrieks of the Nazgul grew louder the closer she flew towards the earth, as if rejoicing at their target in sight.

She never stopped flying, not even amongst the fir trees whose needles clawed at her face. She pushed on, knowing by now that the wounds would heal themselves without assistance. The closest Ember came to falling from her branch was when the Nazgul tried to cut her off by half of them rounding the trees and re-appearing directly in her path. With a cry of surprise, she almost tipped backwards, but used the momentum to rocket straight up and out of the forest instead. Of course, then the branch stalled at the vertical tilt, causing Ember and Frodo to tumble out of the sky.

It was a miracle that, as a ford appeared beneath them, Ember held tightly onto Frodo and regained some control over her flight path. At a precarious angle, she put her heels out and shakily landed on solid ground, pebbles flying everywhere as the branch snapped in two and disappeared with the river tide. She barely had a second to breathe and regain her bearings before catching sight of the nine Ringwraiths, astride their horses, lined up on the other side of the river. Their animals reared up and whinnied loudly, apparently afraid to cross the river. For the first time, one of the Nazgul, their leader, addressed her with intelligible, husky words:

'Give up the Halfling, witch!'

Ember stood at full height and, after checking that Frodo was still alive, drew the sword Strider gave her and tapped into the hollow in her chest where her magic simmered, waiting to be called upon.

'If you want him,' she shouted boldly over the river, 'Come and claim him!'

They accepted the challenge: the Nazgul drew their swords and slowly but surely forced their steeds on into the rushing waters. It was then that Ember knew exactly how best to be rid of them. She used her sword as a wand to channel her muttered spell over the weak waves in a vast sweep. The water level rapidly began to rise, until the horses were submerged up to their necks. Still the Nazgul pressed on, until, halfway across the ford, they stopped at a distant crash from around the bend, like thunder. In a matter of seconds, the servants of Sauron were drowning in a stampede of water horses, born out of the foam of mighty wave crests. Their screeches turned to gargles, until they and their horses were washed far out of sight. Ember watched them, feeling her energy waning, but satisfied with her work.

There was still Frodo to worry about, however - he convulsed on the shore as if choking. Ember sensed his spirit leaving him faster than rain down a gutter. She threw her arms underneath him.

'Frodo!' she cried, 'No, don't even think about it, we're so close, I…I can see the turrets of the Last Great House!' With the branch broken, Ember had no choice but to carry Frodo in her own arms, up the winding forest path to the gates of Rivendell. Even with the extraordinary lifeforce the Arkenstone granted her, Ember was panting all the way up the valley.

'This shall pass, Frodo,' she repeated to him like a healing chant. Over a bridge stood an ornate, gleaming set of gates. 'This shall pass, this shall pass, this shall -'

 **A/N:** I know, I know, Ember kinda stole Arwen's moment...but for my two cents, Arwen's characterisation in the films starts of promisingly in _Fellowship_ and then gets pretty inconsistent. It may seem controversial, but this interpretation feels right to me. Agree? Disagree? Let me know what you think in a review! Otherwise, see you shortly readers!


	9. Making an Entrance

**Chapter Nine**

 **Making an Entrance**

At first sight, the Elves guarding the gates to the Last Homely House thought an unconscious hobbit was riding to them on a white horse.

'Please!' came the cry to the contrary. 'Open the gates, he is fading!'

The guards exchanged doubtful glances, but after some mutters in Sindarin they cautiously obeyed. Ember ran through and skidded to a halt in the middle of a stone courtyard, sprinkled with wandering noble Elves who stopped whatever they were doing to stare. Ember suddenly realised she was without even one idea of who could treat Frodo. He had fallen silent, eyes half-open and unblinking. But not yet dead. She would not let the darkness steal away his good soul. Ember muffled the Elves' whispers and exclamations to close her eyes and search the history of Imladris, seeking out its most expert healer.

'Lord Elrond,' she said, testing the name in its sudden clarity. 'Lord Elrond?' she repeated loudly. 'Is he present? This hobbit is passing into the shadows, he needs treatment, _now_!'

'This way,' came a soft, alert voice. Still with Frodo in her arms, Ember turned to find a raven-haired Elf standing at the top of a stone staircase, flanked by two others. As soon as she reached them, they swept the hobbit from her arms and whisked him through alabaster corridors whose pillars cast afternoon shadows. They conversed in urgent Elvish, and then were gone. Ember stood exactly where she was for a few moments, re-focusing her jumbled mind.

'My lady?'

A female Elf stood to her left, robed in silvery lilac, with kind eyes set in a pale, oval face. She looked a great deal more knowledgeable about Ember than Ember about her.

'Forgive me,' said Ember, 'For making such a scene, I just - '

' _Mellonamin_ ,' the Elf murmured, shaking her head, 'Of course not. My father will be able to do much for him, if it is not too late.'

'Your father?' said Ember. She lightly laid a hand on the Elf's upper arm and read what was within reach. 'You are Lady Arwen Undomiel, granddaughter of Lady Galadriel.'

Arwen managed to look open-mouthed with her lips closed. She mirrored Ember's hand gesture, like a kind of greeting she'd initiated.

'The legends boasted of your power and light, but not of your knowledge,' she said, delighted. 'Truly, it is one of the highest honours, if there is anything I may do for you…' While bowing her head halfway to her ground, Arwen seemed to answer herself. 'Oh! There is another hobbit here, my lady, one you know well. I am sure he would be glad to hear of your presence.'

Arwen was already enthusiastically gliding down a flight of stairs adorned with honeysuckle; Ember didn't have time to ask if she meant Sam or Merry or Pippin. When they reached the stunning garden below, she discovered it was none of them. It was Bilbo, sitting next to Gandalf on an oak bench. Ember didn't know whose presence to feel more surprised by.

'Bilbo? I…didn't realise the road would take you here.'

'Dear Ember.' He rose from the bench as she leaned in to hug him. His face had aged faster than cheese left to turn in the sun. It was the absence of the Ring, the price paid for delayed mortality. His hiking stick leaned against the bench. 'I always did mean to see the Hidden Valley once more, and the air is very pleasant.'

Gandalf moved to embrace Ember, and at the sight of his haggard appearance and haunted eyes, any fury at his abandonment vanished like raindrops into a sea.

'Whatever happened to you, Gandalf?' she asked, before sensing the answer at her fingertips. 'You were double-crossed.'

'I was,' he nodded tiredly. 'Ever I remain in the debt of the great Eagles, without whom I would still be Saruman's prisoner, wasting away to nothing in storms.'

'Saruman?' said Ember. 'Your fellow wizard? The wizard you trusted most?' Her words weren't helping to ease the pain of betrayal evident on his face. She softened her expression. 'I am so sorry. At least you escaped. We've been so lost since Bree.'

'Is what I sense true? Is Frodo hurt?'

Bilbo listened as alertly as Gandalf to Ember's summary of everything that had happened, from their encounter with Strider to the Nazgul atop Amon Sul. Arwen remained by the staircase, entranced by what Ember had to say.

'I see,' said Gandalf after mulling over the events. He leaned wearily on his staff. 'Then we can only hope this ranger brings the hobbits here soon and safe. In the meantime, I should see to Frodo.'

'Gandalf, you should _rest_ ,' said Ember firmly. 'Regain some strength whilst in this peaceful place. You have been through an ordeal.'

'And you have not?' he countered.

'Sleep isn't what I need,' she said honestly. She folded her arms and glanced at Bilbo. 'I need clarity.'

'As you wish, Ember,' said Gandalf. Arwen silently repeated the name, hearing it for the first time. She took the wizard's exit as a cue for her own, while Ember sat down on the bench next to Bilbo. For the first few minutes they said nothing, allowing birdsong, faint harp strings, whispering leaves, and distant waterfalls to carry the silence.

'When did your years come to a halt?' she finally asked.

'Oh…' Bilbo strained to remember. 'Well, not right away of course. I'm not the younger spright you knew. It must have been twenty years after the quest. My sixtieth birthday came, and never quite seemed to go again.'

'I do not know whether to pity or envy you, Bilbo Baggins. I look neither old nor young, and feel neither. I'm like a lost child and a hardened grown-up at the same time, without knowing how that can be possible.'

'I believe that is how I felt for the entirety of the quest, and all the time after,' Bilbo replied. Ember clasped the edge of the bench, a light breeze stroking hair past her ears.

'What did happen after…after I was gone, to you?'

The hobbit put both hands on the top of his walking stick, as if meaning to plant it in the earth.

'My oh my, it was so long ago, and I haven't had the opportunity to recount it in full to anyone but sheaves of paper in a book. It is very much another hobbit's tale, from another time, another world. Dain II was crowned the new King under the Mountain. The remaining dwarves of the company pledged their allegiance to him, and they stayed in Erebor to build it up again from the rubble and ashes. Dain gave Bard the promised fourteenth share of the treasure, and from what I've heard, he used it to great effect, building Dale and Lake-town anew, comfortable and safe from terrors. The dwarves were true to their contract - I came away with my own chest of gold, enough to make me even more comfortable a hobbit than I was before. It allowed me to provide not only for myself, but for dear Frodo too.'

At Bilbo's grieved expression, Ember patted his bony hand.

'He will be alright, Bilbo. Had he passed into darkness, we surely would have been told by now.'

'That is true,' he nodded slowly. 'Dearie me…where was I? Oh yes, journeying back. It took several months, extraordinary just how much ground we covered in the end. Really rather extraordinary…Once the bitterest of winter had passed, Gandalf and I returned here, to Rivendell. Gandalf thought it prudent to tell Lord Elrond all that had happened.'

'So,' said Ember, 'He also knows about me, I presume.'

'Oh my dear,' said Bilbo, with something approximating a twinkle in his eye, 'Anyone beyond the Shire with a set of ears will have heard of you.'

If her snowy face still had the ability to do so, she would have blushed.

'After that,' he continued, 'We bade farewell to this fairest of houses and rode the last leg of the journey. We even stopped by the troll cave - do you remember we told you - and picked up the odds and ends of treasures there, which was a nice surprise. And then…' A bittersweet sigh. 'I was home. At last. The beginning of that excursion, I tell you, I pined for my hearth and books and slippers every day. And yet after the battle, I could barely remember what any of the rooms looked like, or what colour the doors were.'

'It must have been so strange to be home.'

'Too right. Not least because when I did return, most of my possessions were being marched out the front door.'

'What?'

Bilbo shook his white head.

'The whole of Hobbiton had considered me missing, presumed dead! They were even auctioning off the silverware!'

Neither could hide a grin at that, but Ember's slowly disappeared when she found another very important question for the hobbit.

'Bilbo, what happened to my family? What's become of Astra?'

He looked at Ember without any idea where to begin. Before he could even try, however, his attention moved elsewhere, over her shoulder. Ember turned to find another Elf, poised, dark-haired and regal in robes of russet. She didn't need pastsight to work out that this was the famous Lord Elrond. He stood halfway down the garden stairs and extended a hand.

'My guests, Frodo is settled into a clean sleep.' Ember and Bilbo sank back against the bench at the same time. 'It is a sleep that could last for several days,' Elrond added, 'As what he nearly lost to the shadows must work to replenish itself. He should return to the light soon. You have no need to worry.'

'Thank goodness for that,' sighed Bilbo, rubbing a hand against his cheek, the muscles weak. 'Is it too soon to see him?'

'Not at all, dear hobbit,' said Elrond. He descended the stairs and crossed to them while Bilbo took his time standing from the bench. Ember met Elrond's self-assured gaze as she also stood. She wasn't sure whether to shake his hand, bow, or do anything at all other than stand perfectly still.

The last thing she expected was for him to bow to _her_.

' _Creoso mellonamin. Cormamin lindua ele lle_.' He rose, smiled warmly at her like a long-lost daughter come home, and proceeded to translate: 'Welcome, my friend. My heart sings to see thee.'

'Thank you, my lord,' said Ember, thoroughly unprepared for these greetings. 'I feel…very well received. I sensed it as soon as I ran through the gates that you would be the most capable of helping Frodo. I cannot thank you enough.'

'I am glad to help. What is a life lived if not to help? Come' (for Bilbo was ready) 'let us go inside.'

They went at an unhurried pace to a guest room - of which there seemed to be many - where the walls were a soft white with curtains that floated on fresh breezes. Frodo lay sunk in the middle of a pillow five times the size of his head. The blanket covering him was so enormous, he looked buried beneath snowfall.

'He is so pale,' Ember murmured in the doorway, as Bilbo lowered himself into a bedside chair, 'So drained.'

'But alive,' said Elrond.

'And…' Ember trailed off with an ambiguous stare, unsure of how much to disclose.

'The ring is still around his neck,' Elrond said neutrally. Ember exhaled.

'My lad,' said Bilbo, looking ready to do nothing but stay at his nephew's side for the rest of the day. Ember would have lingered longer in the doorway, but turned when Elrond touched her arm.

'If I may, Lady Ember. There are some questions I would like to ask of you.' They walked side by side through a curved hallway. Ember wondered, in passing, if the architectural motif of circles was meant to represent Elven immortality. 'How long have you been back, if I might ask?'

'Back?'

'In time, as it were.'

'Oh, I see. Only some days and nights,' said Ember. 'I have lost count already.'

'And how do you feel?'

Ember opened her mouth to speak before realising that she didn't know how to answer it. Elrond made no show of impatience, and wherever he was taking her seemed a fair way off yet, so she had time enough to fish for words.

'I feel like a falling glass frozen,' she said. Elrond nodded. 'Frozen at the point of hitting the floor: intact, yet on the verge of breaking. It is a hardness I can feel sitting in my chest.'

'From what Gandalf told me upon his return from the battle,' said Elrond, 'The spell you conjured together was unprecedented, immensely risky. He himself spoke of it more as a prayer than a spell. Neither living nor dead, neither aged nor young, you are something of a paradox.'

'I know,' said Ember. 'Neither unfeeling, nor able to grieve.'

Elrond said nothing. She stopped when he did, in front of an altar of some kind, upon which a broken sword lay in carefully aligned shards on silvery cloth. Ember tilted her head and reached out a hand.

'May I…?'

'Of course.'

Running a fingertip along one of the pieces, Ember gathered an old legend like a fine coat of dust.

'You were there when Isildur used this blade to cut the ring from Sauron himself,' she said, as if the event had happened the previous week.

'Yes,' said Elrond. He turned to face the wall behind. 'Immortality brings many burdens, but I am grateful that I have been witness to moments of triumph, however fleeting…or permanent.'

In the pause that followed, Ember turned to see what he was gazing upon. It was a landscape painting, one of many depicting the great and terrible battles of old. This one showed Elven armies on the left of a deep valley, covered in snow against grey ruins and a white sky. At the bottom of the valley, trying to scale its jagged slopes, were legions of Orcs and Goblins, pale and dark, deformed and scarred. On the right, brandishing swords and axes, were the dwarves, armoured in gold. The painter had made sure to add flourishes and blended oils to the warriors' furs, their hair, anything that could be blown back by the intensely bright, blue-white light placed at the top of the valley, the centre of the work.

Ember stared, dumbstruck, at the figure from whose hands shot glowing waves of magic at the invading Orcs and Goblins. One hand pointed down at the valley to drive them out; the other pointed to the sky, making a hurricane of Orc and Goblin bones. The figure looked more like a ghost than Ember hoped she did, blindingly bright. Two blank eyes stared out of the canvas, solid and unrelenting like a sunbeam.

'How accurate would you say this representation is?' asked Elrond measuredly.

'I'm afraid I can't remember the battle coherently enough to tell you,' said Ember. She leaned on her arm next to the frame. 'My feelings have become muddled with Gandalf's account of the battle. But I do remember the light. In fact, the light is all I'm certain of remembering.'

 _You were radiant_

Ember blinked at Kili's voice in her ear, but made no show of hearing him. She actually felt tired, in need of a doze - outflying and flooding the Nazgul had drained a lot of magic from her veins. She looked back at Elrond.

'How much has Gandalf told you about what must be done?'

'Enough for me to send word to our allies throughout Middle Earth,' replied Elrond, 'Summoning them to an emergency council, here in Rivendell, to discuss the ring. You will, I hope, grace us with your presence?'

'If my presence can be explained concisely, then by all means,' said Ember. 'After all, helping to ward off darkness seems to be my only purpose here in this future. And thus, my only desire.'


	10. Ghosts of Future, Passed

**Chapter Ten**

 **Ghosts of Future, Passed**

 **A/N:** Hello hello hello, welcome to the newest chapter. And thank you so much, 'Guest', for being the first reviewer! *confetti* I'd hold onto your reading hats now, there'll be many a twist and turn by the end of this installment, hehehe...

 _What are you thinking about?_

 _Home. How I'll get there. How much will have changed since I vanished_

They were standing at the top of the hill that overlooked the standalone house, a toy in a huge, wild meadow. Ember could see her arms draped around Kili's neck, but felt only the faintest presence. He turned his head, a sadness in his dark eyes instead of their usual twinkle.

 _What makes you think it is still there?_

Ember's arms tensed.

 _Do you know something?_

 _I'm merely a mirror of your thoughts, fairest, said Kili with a soft smile. I know as much as you do. Ember_

 _What?_

'Ember?'

Suddenly her eyes were open in sunlight that spilled through her door. Ember processed several things at once: she had slept so deeply it was the next morning; she was hugging a pillow; Strider was standing with one hand on the doorknob.

She was awake and up immediately, rushing to embrace him on his safe arrival, but hesitated. He welcomed the gesture for her, and in the silent seconds that followed, a mutual agreement was made to ignore the fact that Ember had been sleep-talking to her dead lover.

'When did you get here?' she asked. 'Are they with you, are they all safe?'

'Yes, we are all well. We have been here not twenty minutes and the hobbits have leapt at the invitation to food and fresh clothes.'

'I didn't think that Elves kept hobbit-sized clothing in case of such an event.'

Strider chuckled tiredly.

'They are as prepared as they are accommodating.' He glanced over his shoulder. 'I did not mean to disturb your rest -'

'No, it's no disturbance to me to know we are all here, by any means. Besides, I feel renewed. Let's take a walk. Have you been acquainted with Lord Elrond yet?'

'Oh, I have long been acquainted with Elrond,' said Strider ambiguously, making no further comment. He shut the bedroom door behind them as they began heading for the outdoor dining tables.

'I am indebted to you,' he said, 'I feared for the risk you took in flying Frodo here, but had it not been for that risk, he would be worse than dead. Thank you.'

'That is good of you to say. Messy as all this is, I am just glad he's pulling through.'

'Lady Ember!'

She was almost knocked into a pillar by a flying Pippin. He hugged her with one arm while deftly holding three slices of toasted bread in the other. Merry joined him in this greeting.

'Young hobbits, please,' she smiled, shaking her head, 'It's only been two days - I am quite capable of not dying or being grievously injured in that time. And for the love of Luthien, call me just 'Ember'. I'm not a noblewoman.'

'You saved him,' came a voice from her left. It was Sam, holding his toast more as a distraction than for nourishment. 'Makes you noble in my book.' She strained to reach over the hobbits and pat Sam affectionately on the head. He shifted his feet, impatient. 'Come on you two, I want to see Mister Frodo.'

'I don't know how much there is to see,' said Ember. 'The last I heard, he was sleeping like the oldest log.'

Sam was no less insistent. Strider and Ember got a slice of bread and a goblet of clear spring water each before leading the way to Frodo's room. Someone was waiting outside the closed doors, and it was neither Gandalf nor Bilbo, nor any Elf from Rivendell. Ember halted at the top of the alabaster steps down to the guest room. She didn't drop her goblet, but was taken aback enough to let her arm go limp, releasing the water down the stairs. The woman, tall, slim and delicately beautiful, turned at the splash. Pale blonde hair flowing halfway down the back of a deep green gown, she stared at Ember.

Confused, Strider and the hobbits would never have thought to call these two women sisters.

Ember didn't break the stare as she walked down the steps and stopped in front of Isis. To each other, they were equally familiar and unrecognizable.

'You have not aged,' they said at the same time, the first words they'd exchanged in sixty years. It was true - Isis was as smooth-skinned, limber and clear-eyed as she was when Ember and Astra had joined the quest. There wasn't so much as one grey hair on her head.

'I don't understand,' said Ember, looking at Strider as if he would have even the faintest notion of what she was talking about. 'This should not be possible, how…how are you exactly as you were?'

'I was about to ask the same thing of you,' said Isis, her eyes shining. 'No - what am I saying - the first thing I should ask is…how are you alive?' She fell onto Ember, who was still trying to reconcile all the paradoxes in the air. Feeling Isis's familiar embrace, though, the feeling of home, made her hug tightly back. Her shoulder quickly became damp. 'Oh, Ember, my sister,' Isis sobbed, moving back to grip her arms so hard it was painful. 'I thought you _died_.'

'I did.' Ember could think of nothing better to say. One of Pippin's toast slices fell to the floor.

'Are you a ghost?'

'Does it feel like I am one?'

Isis saw her hands cutting off her sister's circulation and promptly let go. She wiped the tears from her face and regained some composure, finally registering Strider and the hobbits.

'Oh, goodness I'm sorry,' she murmured, 'I am blocking your way.'

'…No trouble,' said Sam faintly, looked awkward and afraid in equal parts.

. . .

Isis and Ember slowly made their way outside and found privacy in a white gazebo shaded by trees, overlooking the valley with its powerful, rushing waters. The spray was cool and misty on their skin as they sat to talk. Or, at least initially, sat in quiet. It took several long minutes for the sisters to get used to occupying the same space again.

'What are you doing here?'

Isis kept her hands folded in her lap, thoughtful.

'I heard that Bilbo Baggins had arrived to settle here in Rivendell. I haven't seen him for so long, in fact I am amazed he's still alive.'

'Y-e-s,' said Ember.

'In short, I wanted to see an old friend while he was reasonably near, and still with us.' Ember nodded. Isis leaned forward and covered her hand in her own. 'But what about you, I do not even know where to begin…Have you been alive all this time?'

'Wandering the earth for sixty years before only now returning to make my presence known?' said Ember. Isis looked away, point taken. 'I have barely been here a week.'

'In Rivendell?'

'No…' she struggled to articulate it, '…Back in Middle Earth. Isis, I don't know how much Gandalf had a chance to explain, if at all, but after the Battle at Erebor, I fell out of time. I landed in the middle of a field in Hobbiton! It is a struggle to understand even in my own head, but try to see that part of my static ageing is because, between Erebor and the Shire, only seconds had gone by.'

Isis raised her eyebrows, evidently unsettled, but she seemed to sincerely understand.

'Ordeal does not describe even half of what you've been through. Especially with…' But she trailed off, deciding a rapid subject change was in order. 'Ember, I think I need not tell you that a _lot_ has happened in the last six decades.'

'No, you need not,' sighed Ember, 'Although I know next to nothing about just what has happened. I was so shocked to see you that even our embrace yielded nothing by way of pastsight.'

'Well,' said Isis, drawing her hands back, 'I should probably begin by explaining myself.'

'Alright.'

'I don't know how shocked you might be by this,' said Isis carefully, 'Or indeed whether you might have already sensed it somehow.'

'Sensed what?'

'That I am an Elf.'

'That you're…' Ember's mouth fell open. 'What.'

Isis tucked her long tresses back to show the evidence: two unmistakably pointed ears.

'Fear not,' she said, 'You haven't lost your mind - they did not mature until ten or twenty years after the battle.'

Ember stored this information into a box, as with everything else, but it was like trying to store a breath of air.

'But…' she began, without anything to add. Isis gave a sad smile.

'I wish I could say I were a full-blooded Elf, born out of nowhere as our mother was born a witch. But it's never so simple.'

'When did you discover this?' said Ember, falling back against the soft cover of her chair.

'Much, much later than I should have,' Isis replied. 'Our family doesn't just excel at magic; keeping secrets seems to be our true collective talent. It took us a long time to return from grief to a state resembling normality. But in those years, something felt increasingly wrong to me. Mother's hair greyed, Quill grew taller, from girl to woman…And yet every time I stared at my face, in a dark window or a washbowl, I'd see only a face unchanged by time. At first it didn't particularly bother me, but after ten years, appearances would dictate that _I_ was the youngest in the family.

'I should have mentioned my anxiety to Mother sooner, then perhaps I would have known earlier. But it seemed like such a strange and silly thing to worry over - persistent youth is something most mortal women dream of. But one day I did ask her: "What is happening to me?" I thought it was the curse we never even knew Cauna left in me.'

Ember's skin crawled at the mention of her name.

'What did she have to say about it?'

'She took me up to one of the spare rooms before telling anyone else,' said Isis. 'Ember, did you ever stop to ask our father why he always kept his hair over his ears?' Ember didn't move for what seemed, to Isis, like a long time. 'In the absence of inheriting the blood of a witch,' she said, 'I carry the blood of an Elf instead. Hence Father's and my fairness in a family of redheads.'

Ember laughed, but for a lack of coherent words, and at the sheer absurdity of what she was hearing. Isis laughed too.

'I certainly didn't find it funny at the time,' she said, her smile fading. 'Never before then had I felt such anger, or since.'

'That is a huge part of your life to keep in the dark.'

'Yes, I am glad you agree.' Isis toyed with the fabric of her dress. 'I spent the better part of my childhood coming to terms with the fact that I was the odd one out: no red hair, no brown eyes, no magic powers. Sometimes I would play an imaginary game in which my 'real' parents were on their way to whisk me back to a kingdom on the other side of Middle Earth, and I had to pack a bag and be ready for them. Some days I would even get as far as sitting outside the front gate, waiting for truth.'

Ember felt a shadow of shame that she hadn't made Isis feel more included in their childhood games, their spell practices.

'Not that it was your fault,' said Isis, as if reading her mind, 'And not even Mother's fault, I came to recognise that. She had to keep it secret. Half-bloodedness is so unheard of, most do not even consider it possible. But all those years ago, I could not, _would not_ , understand. All my actions were fuelled by my fury at Mother's betrayal. I felt denied of complete identity, and suddenly, nothing was more important than seeking that out.'

'So what did you do?'

'Well,' said Isis, raising an eyebrow, 'I suppose my imaginary game was finally made reality. A week after Mother told me the secret, I really did take a pack of belongings and a map out of the house. I walked for four hours until I came to the border of Mirkwood.'

Ember pulled herself forward to grip the armrests of her chair, staring hard at her sister.

'You walked into Mirkwood,' she said, 'By yourself?'

'My youthful determination knew no bounds,' said Isis. 'But I admit, when I actually stopped to look through the gnarled, dark woods, a large part of me wanted desperately to turn on my aching feet and go home. But an even greater part of me needed to find Father's family. So I ventured in. Tell me, when you all walked through that eerie forest, did you lose your way, feel your heads start to spin?'

Ember nodded fervently.

'On top of which I had a vision in the middle of it,' she said, 'So for a while I was separated from the group altogether. That was scary indeed.'

'So I too realised,' said Isis. 'From time to time I have fleeting nightmares of that place. Outside the Woodland Realm, it simply isn't safe. Whatever hung in the air threw me off course almost immediately…not that I had much of a planned route to begin with.'

'Dare I ask if you were attacked by the spiders?'

Isis frowned.

'Spiders? Oh, goodness no. I have heard of and even seen glimpses of them since then, but thankfully our paths never seemed to intersect. Nonetheless, I still managed a brush with death.'

'By the Valar, how?'

'I came across the river and -'

'A river runs through Mirkwood?'

'Yes,' said Isis. 'Didn't you encounter it?'

Ember shook her head, before remembering.

'Wait! Yes, of course we did, in barrels. But only as an exit from the Woodland Realm, not through it.'

'Oh, I see. Well, I tried to cross it in the forest which, in hindsight, was spectacularly foolish. Barred from light by the treetops, the water was practically black, and the current fast. I thought I might reach the other side by tiptoeing precariously along a fallen log, but the water had eroded its strength and solidity - the thing broke into splinters as I was halfway along. I don't recall a great deal about what happened next - I think at some point I took a knock to the head - but before I knew it, I was lying on a pleasanter, healthier bank, spluttering out water in the arms of a Mirkwood Elf. He and four others had been slaying spiders, an activity that had become something of a routine, so many they are in number.'

'So you reached the Woodland Realm after all.'

'Mm,' Isis nodded, smiling to herself. 'Though no one quite seemed to know what to make of me on arrival, I felt welcome enough, as soon as we stepped through the gates. You can imagine how out of place I felt, in a muddied dress with dripping hair and scratches all over. But I was given new clothes and a bed to rest on.'

'Elves,' said Ember, 'Ever the homely hosts.'

'The Mirkwood kind are slightly less...academic,' Isis qualified, 'And tougher, more resilient. But as I said, I never felt unsafe or treated badly. I was, however, summoned to the King.'

'To Thranduil?' said Ember. 'Goodness, how daunting.'

'You steal the words from my mouth,' Isis nodded. 'No one has a presence quite like he does. My hair was dry, I had a new dress for the first time in years, and still I felt so insignificant, so small.'

'What did he have to say to you?'

'He sat on his throne and asked me where a lady like myself came from, and what business I had entering Mirkwood alone. He was very calm and poised, until I mentioned Father's name, at which point he stood up quite suddenly. I do not think "Tircyn Darell" had been uttered in the Woodland Realm for centuries. I knew I'd stumbled onto dangerous ground when he slowly descended the stairs from his throne, just to level eyes with me. It was like he was searching for Father somewhere in my face, and he went so far as to brush back my hair. Would you believe that was the first time I noticed my ears were starting to point? When he informed me of the fact, I touched them and gave a little shriek - terribly embarrassing.'

'Oh Isis,' Ember smiled. 'How did he know our father?'

'He was Thranduil's first cousin.'

'…So they knew each other very well then,' said Ember faintly. It was beyond strange to think that she and the Elven King of Mirkwood were in fact blood relations.

'They were best friends,' said Isis. 'But then of course…'

'Mum came along,' Ember supplied. 'I know they first met when she nursed him back to health after getting separated from his army, but an Elven army…that is something else.'

'Hence in that moment Thranduil regarded me with very mixed feelings indeed. It's a heartbreaking story - after Father decided to leave behind the family of the Greenwood, they never saw one another again. It was I who had to tell him that Father had been dead for over ten years.'

'Oh, Isis…'

'That was a difficult day for both of us. In the beginning it was evidently and understandably painful for Thranduil even to look at me, a reminder of Father, the best and worst of him.'

'His spirit,' said Ember, 'But also the product of betrayal to his heritage.'

Isis nodded. She sank back into her chair.

'I felt like an ambassador, there to make a bridge between two families. It was lonely for the first year or so.'

'Goodness, so you stayed there for quite a while.'

Isis cast a knowing smile at her sister.

'Ember, I never left.' She laughed lightly at the startled reaction that followed. 'My determination carried over into establishing myself amongst the Elves. I habitually wore my hair up to show my ears. It was as though they knew they were home, fully growing into their points. I attended the feasts and festivals, learned the names of all the nobler Elves, as well as the servants and Silvan Elves. I made things easier for myself from the beginning by conversing with the Elf who had rescued me from drowning. It took us a little over a week to realise we were second cousins once removed…I think.'

'Who is that? Wait -' Ember raised her eyebrows. 'You don't mean his son Legolas?'

'Indeed I do. A good soul. Strong, brave, compassionate…' Ember resisted the urge to frown, based on what she remembered of the Elf who had so coldly handled them upon being taken prisoners. Isis gazed warmly out at the landscape beyond the gazebo balcony, before adjusting one of her rings. 'As the years went by, Thranduil grew to see me as something of a stepdaughter. I must have earned a sufficient amount of his respect, since he thought Legolas and I made a worthy match.'

She turned her finger outward - a silver engagement band. Ember gasped softly, reaching out to take her sister's hand.

'Isis…I can hardly believe it.'

'I am not surprised,' said Isis, 'Although I hope…you are happy for me, aren't you?'

'Of course,' said Ember, fully sincere. 'This is all just a lot to take in at once. You are marrying into, well, royalty.'

'Not yet,' said Isis, with a twang of sadness. 'Even for Elves, thirty years is something of a slow engagement.'

'Thirty years?'

'I won't say my patience is wearing thin, but…' Isis cast her palms to the sky before putting her head in them. 'I do wonder how much say Legolas himself had in this arrangement. It is no secret that he pined after Tauriel, may she rest in peace. And amongst Elves, love dies much, much slower than the loved.'

Ember sighed.

'Also true outside the Elves.'

'Oh, Ember, I am so sorry,' said Isis, sitting up. 'Here I am wittering on about my engagement to a wonderful Elf, when the pain of losing Kili must still be so fresh for you.'

'It is and it isn't,' said Ember measuredly. 'I think a considerable side effect of falling through the years is being denied the necessary time to grieve. But for now, at least, I am alright.'

'Really?' said Isis, concerned. Ember gave her a small smile.

'Really. If there's a day for worry, it is not today. Frodo is safe and healing, Bilbo and Gandalf are here -'

'Gandalf?' said Isis. 'Gracious, I had no idea!'

'Yes,' said Ember. 'It's a long and complicated story, but I am sure he'll be glad to see you after all this time. Come.'

She stood from the chair, warmed by the midday sun, and offered a hand. Isis took it, and they walked from the gazebo together.

'Let us go and re-introduce you to some old friends,' said Ember. 'Reunited with my dear sister, this is easily the best of my days so far in this future.'

 **A/N:** Can I just say that it's taken me SEVEN TRIES to upload this chapter. Silly browser problems. But I shall not be defeated!


	11. Strictly Business

**Chapter Eleven**

 **Strictly Business**

 **A/N:** Yay for updates!

That day ended beautifully: shortly after re-acquainting Isis with an elderly Bilbo, Gandalf informed them that Frodo was awake at last, and quite revitalised. Ember introduced her sister properly to the hobbits, who stared up at her as though in the presence of a fallen star, and they all spent the evening peacefully enjoying the birdsong in Rivendell's gardens, along with some sweet wine.

The following day, absolutely everything changed. Ember was well aware Elrond had sent for allied representatives to join an emergency meeting of his council, but she hadn't realised they would all show up within hours of each other. She, Isis, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin watched from a high balcony close to the front gates, curious to see who would arrive, as soon as a flourish of Elven trumpets sounded in time with cantering horse hooves.

'Look Mister Frodo,' said Sam excitedly, 'Dwarves!'

Ember missed a breath. For one extraordinarily irrational moment she expected to see Kili, Fili, and Thorin all riding in on ponies. There were four Dwarves, but none familiar to her. Isis did however sense her sister's piqued alertness.

'Are any of them from the company?'

'I honestly cannot tell.' She stepped back from the balcony.

'Something wrong, Ember?' asked Frodo.

'Do not be afraid to be seen,' said Isis, a hand on her sister's arm. 'If you're to attend a Council with them, you may as well introduce yourself now.'

'Introduce myself?' said Ember. 'Precisely what makes me so uneasy is the thought that they'll already know who I am.'

'They will know the legend,' said Isis, 'But not the woman.'

'Is that another Rivendell Elf riding through?' said Merry, peering over the balcony, 'Or does he hail from-'

'Legolas!' Isis waved swiftly and gracefully at the blonde Elf who descended from his horse, both wearing green crests. He - and some of the dwarves - looked their way and gave a brief, polite smile. Isis beamed even as she had to drag Ember out of the shade. 'Come now Ember, you cannot very well represent yourself from behind a pillar.'

The hobbits stayed where they were - 'it's nice to have the higher view for a change,' said Pippin. Isis hurried down the corridors with a reluctant Ember behind her, until they were at the top of the courtyard stairs in the sun, quite without anywhere to hide. Ember half-entertained a wish for the sun to camouflage her white skin and clothes (Kili's blue cloak was folded on her bed), but when those present in the courtyard fixed their stares, she resigned herself to visibility and followed Isis down the steps.

Her sister rushed over to Legolas, but stopped short of embracing him. Instead, they exchanged smiles and he lightly kissed her hand. Elves were not known for their outward displays of affection, but even this was more like a greeting between two members of court than a future husband and wife. They exchanged some polite words. It was surreal to hear Isis, still in Ember's mind a Westbrook girl of farm and woodland, speaking perfect Elvish, but she'd evidently had plenty of time to learn. Isis must have said something about Ember, because Legolas looked up at her, back to his fiancée, and back again. She swallowed her apprehension and walked up to him.

' _Suilad_ , Legolas, son of Thranduil,' she said, using the Elvish word for "hello" she'd heard used around Rivendell. 'The last time I recall seeing you was amongst slain spiders in Mirkwood, although I suppose you saw me several times thereafter…in a manner of speaking.'

He nodded back at her, unable to collect enough words for a response. She held his gaze but conveyed no expectation for him to speak right away. The last time Legolas saw Ember she would have been, as the artists had it, hovering in the air above Erebor, the Arkenstone flowing in her veins instead of blood. And before _that_ , he would have seen Ember as a host for Cauna's dark misdeeds. She knew he fast had to see her in a different light.

'Ember…' he said at last. 'They claimed you faded from the world.'

'I did. And now, by designed or accidental cosmic coincidence, I am returned.'

'Then allow me to bid you three tokens,' said Legolas, his eyes soft. 'First, my welcome at your return.'

'Thank you.'

'Second,' he said, 'My condolences. It was clear you loved him dearly.' This unexpected sympathy brushed against Ember's heart like heavy drapes. She didn't have to turn around to know that Kili was shadowing her at that very moment. 'Third and finally,' said Legolas, dropping into a full bow at the knee, 'My gratitude. Many lives, my father's included, were spared because of your intervention.'

 _My quite accidental intervention_ , Ember added privately. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

'Think nothing of it,' she said, as Legolas rose. 'Really. Please don't. People need to stop doing that.'

'Still, most extraordinary,' he said, 'To see you here, entirely untouched by time.'

'She was extraordinary e'en before that,' came a slow, distantly familiar voice from behind. Ember turned to find one of the dwarves, the eldest by far, grinning warmly up at her.

Ember frowned, before her senses reached out to pair this face with one from the past.

'Are you…Gloin?'

'She remembers me,' he said, puffed with pride, to a much younger dwarf on his left. 'Ember, dear lass, to think you might re-appear on this earth after all these long years! Wherever have y'been?'

'The blink of an eye away,' she said. 'But dear me, how have you been? And the others -'

'Well, that's in part why we are here,' wheezed Gloin. His flaming red braids had frizzled grey. 'There have been some suspicious things afoot as of late which need discussing with his Lordship. But…actually,' his tone became hopeful, 'Ember, I don't suppose you've, ahem, _seen_ anything concerning the whereabouts of Balin, Oin or Ori, have ye?'

Ember felt immediately worried by this question.

'I'm sorry Gloin, but I haven't. And whatever…state I happen to be in, particular intents of foresight are not something that can be summoned at will. If by any chance I do see something, I'll of course inform you.'

'Much appreciated, lass,' sighed Gloin, before brightening a little. 'By the way, this is my son, Gimli.'

As Gloin's deep rust-haired son bowed with his axe, Ember tried to figure out where she'd heard that name before.

 _In Mirkwood_ , whispered Kili over her shoulder. She shivered at his imaginary breath. _Remember? When the Elves rifled through all our belongings?_

'Ah yes,' said Ember, 'Gimli. Your father spoke of you during our quest.'

'M'lady,' said the Dwarf gruffly, ''Tis a fine honour. Though my father insisted I was too young to join the expedition, I grew up on all the tales that came afterward: the Mirkwood spiders, riding barrels down the river, Lake-town and Smaug, and of course, the Living Silmaril.'

'…That's what I'm known as?' said Ember, blinking slowly. 'Goodness. My apologies in advance for falling somewhat short of any high expectations built in my absence.'

Legolas and Gloin were (grimly) acquainted, and from his manners, Gimli seemed to have been raised with the same disdain of Elves as his father. Having said that, he was perfectly courteous when Ember introduced him to Isis. The dwarves and their two advisors then made their way to Elrond for discussions of business. Isis took Legolas to be re-acquainted with Bilbo, and to introduce him to the hobbits. Ember, meanwhile, waited in the gardens just below the courtyard, letting the sun and breeze clear her mind of disorder.

Mid-afternoon, she heard hooves again. Ember opened her eyes and turned on the bench she'd been using for meditation for the last two hours, listening for the voices of the new arrivals.

'Welcome, friends.'

Elrond himself had come to greet them, and in Westron. Footsteps clacked on the polished stone above. Ember stood from the bench but did not ascend the stairs.

'Lord Elrond,' came a man's voice. 'I come representing the people of Gondor in Denethor's stead from Minas Tirith.'

'And are these your advisors?'

'I am the leading advisor, yes.'

Ember was intrigued to hear a mature woman's voice. How far Middle Earth had come in sixty years for a woman to be appointed a leading advisor in a court of men! She crept halfway up the stairs, taking care not to be seen.

'And I the scribe.' Another woman, with a voice as clear as glass. Ember strained her ears.

'Of course, most excellent,' said Elrond. 'Your gift for languages is known well beyond the city. I presume you are content to act as scribe during the Council?'

'My very reason for being here,' said the woman cheerfully, as if this were a holiday.

'We will gather tomorrow. For now I invite you all to rest and enjoy the hospitality Rivendell has to offer.'

'Many thanks, Lord Elrond,' said the man. When their footsteps moved up the courtyard stairs, Ember moved her own feet in parallel. She reached the top in time to see the back of the visitors' heads - five in total. Two silvery-blonde men, one redheaded man, a grey-haired woman, and…

Ember's legs carried her forward before her brain had time to make any detailed plan.

'Surely not,' she whispered as she leapt silently to the top step. The men were being led one way by Elrond, the women another by Arwen. 'Excuse me.'

The two women, and Arwen, stopped in the hallway and turned. The one nearest to Ember froze up, before breaking into a smile that was knowing, sad, and overjoyed all at once.

'It's you,' said Ember. 'You found the last scrolls of Isildur at Minas Tirith.'

'That's right,' said the little librarian. 'And more.'

Ember stared into the woman's face, recognizing almost nothing except those bright, inquisitive eyes. Her mouth fell open, but sound didn't come out for a good few seconds.

'…Quill?'

'You found me.'

The little woman threw her arms around her big sister and held on tight. Ember felt her chest gently rise like a kite on high breezes. Though she shed no tears, her eyes were warm.

'It can't be,' she whispered, 'And yet...I suppose it must.'

'Sixty years is a long time, Ember,' said Quill, stroking her sister's hair. 'Oh Eru…I thought you were a ghost, but I can feel the life in you. You're alive.'

'Yes Quill, I am,' said Ember, opening her eyes. 'I am alive, I am here, I…' She lost the rest of her words. The other grey-haired woman, robed in black, was staring hard at her as if into a mirror. Indeed, they were each other's reflection, of past and future. Ember slowly let go of Quill. 'Astra.'

The woman remained silent, but it was her. Ember felt this truth intensify as she ran to embrace her twin. Suddenly the fortnight in which they had been separated crashed onto her shoulders, and it made emerging from the rubble that much more wonderful. Ember was careful not to squeeze too tight, but Astra made a strange rasping sound as if she'd had the air knocked from her lungs. Her arms eventually hugged back, but lightly. Ember pulled away.

'You have no idea how glad I am to see you…Are you glad to see me?'

She asked because Astra's expression had barely changed. After sixty years, she would be eighty-two. For a witch, that was approaching old, but not so old as to forget the face of one's own twin sister.

'…How are you here.'

'Even I fail to fully understand how,' said Ember. 'But I'm here now, real. Living.'

'Sixty years,' said Astra. Her eyes were cold and hostile. 'Do you know how long that feels to a mortal.'

None of her questions were delivered as questions. It was like time had worn her voice down to monotone.

'I-I'm sorry, Astra,' said Ember, her hands falling away. 'But you must understand I never meant for this - for _any_ of this - to happen.'

'Of course you didn't,' said Astra, as if humouring her. 'But it happened. You pleaded, begged to fade away, and fade you did. Besides…' She stepped back from Ember, casting her eyes up and down in offence. 'Whether in blinding white or darkest black, all I can see in you is… _her_.'

'Astra!' gasped Quill. Ember felt powerless to say anything in response.

'Because of Cauna, I lost everything,' said Astra, bitterness tainting the monotone. 'My magic. My first and only love. You.'

'But you didn't lose me,' said Ember, her chest tightening. 'I am sorry as anyone else that I landed here so very late, but I am here _now_.'

'Now is too late. I have had oceans of time to learn how to live without you.'

Arwen ducked her head away, looking as though she wanted to be anywhere on Middle Earth but in that corridor. Quill took tentative steps towards the twins. Ember closed her mouth and swallowed.

'…Are you aware Isis is here too?'

Something in Astra's eyes changed at this news - there was a flash of anger.

'No.'

'Are you aware she's -'

'Yes.' Ember didn't know why she had bothered to ask. She put the next question softly to both Astra and Quill: 'And Mum? Does this mean she's alone at home? Or is she somewhere else?'

Quill's shoulders sank. Astra's eyes lost their anger but remained just as stony.

'Isolda has been dead for ten years,' she said. 'This winter.'

Ember stayed very still. Were it possible, her face would have gone even whiter.

'I am so sorry you have to hear this now,' said Quill, a hand on Ember's back. Astra broke out of her statuesque posture to look at the floor.

'It is old news to us,' she said neutrally. 'Like everything else. I don't know what sort of reception you were expecting, Ember, but I almost refuse to believe you really are standing here, as you were six decades ago. You changed so quickly, so frighteningly, in a matter of days. Excuse me for doing the same over a lifetime.'

She turned to continue walking down the hall. Arwen gave a start, but quickly remembered herself and led Astra through a set of doors. She looked back at Ember and Quill.

'We will speak later,' said Quill gently, a wrinkled hand on her sister's face before going into her own guest room. Arwen stood at the end of the corridor, deliberating about whether to go to Ember or leave her be. She went through a different set of doors.

Ember slowly, mechanically, hugged her arms and turned away. That was when she saw Gandalf at the other end of the corridor, apparently having just emerged from one of the meeting rooms. She wondered how long he'd been standing there.

'My dear,' said Gandalf, stepping fully out from behind a pillar. His eyes were like her father's as she remembered them. Ember walked to him, her eyes shining and burning, but again, only from a lack of blinking. She looked up at the wizard and knew it was perfectly acceptable to be frank.

'I hate this,' she said calmly. 'Everything about this. And I hate the fact that while trying to express hatred, I can't even feel it.'

'To live as powerfully as we do,' said Gandalf, 'We are shielded from our own emotions. You have seen yourself what I am like when those shields are punctured.' Ember recalled how dark Bilbo's living room had gone when Gandalf did nothing but raise his voice. She nodded. 'Think instead on tomorrow,' he said, steering her back to her room. 'For that, I have learnt, is how to numb the pain that comes from, well, the pain being numbed. Live one day at a time, one step at a time.'

She found herself only able to respond in nods. That night, thinking ahead to the council, there was a cauldron of…not pure emotions, but their shadows. Like Kili on the bed next to her, they were present without presence, real without reality: anticipation, anxiety, fear, bitterness, loneliness, grief.

This last taking up the most room in her metaphorical cauldron, Ember imagined packing the shadow grief into a tiny box and putting a lock on its lid. She turned her head to Kili, supine beside her, and handed it to him.

 _Keep this safe for me?_

 _Of course_

She spent the night in a doze, hand reaching for his in the middle of the bedspread.

 **A/N:** Hope you enjoyed that! If you did (or hey, even if you didn't), you know what to do: get some R&R, if you'll excuse the pun! ↓


	12. The Council of Elrond

**Chapter Twelve**

 **The Council of Elrond**

 **A/N:** Thank you to everyone who's been favouriting _Starsight_ and _Firesight_ , it's an honour! This chapter's a long one, so if you could leave a review in exchange, that'd make my day :)

The next day, while all the other Council attendees made their way to a stone courtyard shaded by toffee-leaved trees, Ember loitered around a corner by herself. She didn't understand what she could possibly have to contribute to the discussion, and would strongly prefer to avoid it altogether.

Isis and Arwen watched from one of the balconies. Ember discreetly waved up at them, wishing she could enjoy the same distance. When her eyes moved back down, she was mildly startled by Elrond's discovery of her hiding place.

'We are about to begin, Ember,' he said, extending a hand. 'Would you care to take your seat?'

There was nothing for it - she set her teeth and followed him into the courtyard. The murmuring talk amongst those present died down almost to silence as Ember crossed the stone floor, taking a seat at one end of the semi-circle, next to Frodo. By feigning nonchalance, she ended up feeling it genuinely, even though one of the men across the floor could not stop staring at her, as though she were an artifact behind cabinet doors. Astra, a few chairs away from this man, looked right through her.

Fortunately, collective attention turned to Elrond, as he stood before his own tall chair, looking out onto everyone else. He nodded at Quill, who had a chair beside his, and a long unwound scroll on a desk.

'Welcome, strangers from distant lands, friends of old,' said Elrond in a loud, clear voice. 'Allow me to begin this Council with a list of all those present today by name: Elrond of Rivendell, convenor of the Council; Gandalf the Grey, Istar; Elrohir of Rivendell; Elladan, also of Rivendell; Figwit, also of Rivendell; Boromir of Gondor…'

This was the man who had been staring, and who had arrived with Astra and Quill. Obviously, he and Ember had not yet been introduced, and he must have been trying to work out if his suspicions as to her identity were true. All this time, Quill was scribbling the names with a calm ferocity.

'…Henothor, also of Gondor,' continued Elrond, 'Chiad, also of Gondor; Astra, also of Gondor; Frodo Baggins of the Shire; Bilbo Baggins, also of the Shire; Ember Darell, otherwise known as the Living Silmaril…'

There was more than one quiet gasp from the semi-circle, Boromir included. Ember slowly drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair and glanced over the shocked faces without actually looking into them. The corners of Elrond's mouth twitched as he added:

'…And Quill of Gondor, scribing.' Quill ceased her writing as soon as the words left his lips, waiting for new ones to record. Ember wondered if that talent was aided by magic, or simply the result of decades of practice. 'You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor,' said Elrond. 'Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall.'

Ember tried to meet Astra's eyes, but her sister devoted her full attention to Elrond, either coincidentally or on purpose.

'Each race is bound to this fate,' said Elrond, 'This one doom. Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.'

The hobbit obliged, sliding off his chair to leave the Ring atop a stone plinth in the middle of the courtyard. He looked thoroughly relieved to have it off his hands for a few moments.

Quill had nothing to scribe in the following seconds, because the entire Council gazed at the ring in awestruck silence. As Ember looked from face to face, she could tell she was not the only one hearing its quickfire, conspiratorial whispers. Astra's delicate eyelids flickered, and Quill put her fingers to her temples, as if willing the sounds away. Ember herself had to shake off the Ring's tempting call to her - _All the power could be yours, power enough to bring back your loved ones, bring back Isolda, and Kili, and_ -

The uneasy trance was broken when the man from Gondor, Boromir, stood abruptly to address the others.

'In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark,' he said in a faraway voice. 'But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: "Your doom is near at hand."' Slowly, as if being guided to the plinth by a lead, he approached the Ring, staring down at it in admiration. 'Isildur's Bane is found.'

To Elrond, Gandalf and Ember's shared alarm, Boromir reached out to touch the Ring, and in that moment, the seconds slowed. Ember had a shadow vision, come and gone as quickly as the first ripples on disturbed water. She fore-sensed Gandalf being overcome and reciting the Black Speech of Mordor before the Council, leading to panic and outcry.

'Do not touch it!' She was up from her chair immediately, briefly lifting Boromir's bewitchment. He looked stunned, as though not expecting her to be capable of speech, let alone commands. 'Stand far away, do not touch it,' Ember repeated, taking a step towards him. 'The Ring is evil. It is like blazing fire - though inviting, it will burn your skin through to the soul.'

A tense moment passed in which no one moved. Boromir let his hand fall back to his side, but did not sit down.

'It is a gift,' he said, 'A gift to the foes of Mordor.'

'Every evil thing presents itself as a gift in the beginning,' Ember replied calmly, but sternly. 'That's how it enters the heart, by enticing.'

'But why not _use_ this Ring?' Boromir persisted, slowly pacing the courtyard. 'Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of _our_ people are your lands kept safe.' He turned back to Ember, looking from her to Elrond imploringly. 'Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!'

'You cannot wield it!' Strider exclaimed suddenly. He too stood from his chair. 'None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.'

'Thank goodness,' Ember muttered to herself, 'Someone speaks sensibly.'

'And what would a ranger know of this matter?' retorted Boromir, who didn't seem to appreciate losing face. At this, Legolas also stood up.

'This is no mere ranger,' he declared. 'This is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.'

Ember's eyes widened like all the others'. Strider/Aragorn, who looked deeply embarrassed, met her stare long enough for her to raise an eyebrow and nod: _So that's what you were so good at concealing from me about your past._

'Aragorn?' echoed Boromir, more shocked than anyone. 'This…is Isildur's heir?'

'And heir to the throne of Gondor,' said Legolas. Aragorn sent pleading eyes at him and raised a firm hand.

' _Havo dad_ , Legolas.' At this, the Elf sat down again.

'Gondor has no king,' said Boromir, his shock giving way to disdain. 'Gondor needs no king.'

'Aragorn is right,' said Gandalf, who remained in his seat. 'We cannot use it.'

'You have only one choice,' said Elrond, his voice restoring order to the Council. 'The Ring must be destroyed.'

Boromir looked more put in his place than five seconds ago. He sighed as the rest of the Council went back to staring at the Ring, each appearing to devise a means of such destruction. Gimli took the invocation a little too literally:

'Then what are we waiting for?'

Ember pre-emptively winced as the Dwarf rushed towards the plinth, swung his axe high above his head, and brought it crashing onto the Ring. He fell backwards as if having run headfirst into a wall, his axe breaking into three pieces over the stone floor. Frodo also hissed to himself, under a spell of pain. Ember wondered, with concern, whether any damage done to the Ring affected him too. Elrond looked upon the baffled Dwarf with an amused kind of patience.

'The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft that we here possess,' he said. 'The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this.'

In the ensuing silence, nearly every pair of eyes fell on Ember. She frowned, before realising with a quiet horror just how inflated their expectations of her powers were. She looked to Elrond.

'Me? Cast the Ring into the fire?'

'You of all people seem able to work miracles,' Astra said quietly, but in the hush, she might as well have shouted it. Ember shook her head.

'At the height of the Arkenstone's potency, yes,' she said. 'When it threatened to kill me. It brings me sorrow to disappoint this Council, but I could never replicate what I did during the Battle for Erebor. I can't even _remember_ what I did. Now I have power, certainly, but no more than an Istar like Gandalf. Besides,' she continued, crossing her arms, 'It is _because_ I have power that I could not bear the Ring all the way to Mordor. I am too liable to corruption, as Sauron always meant it to be so.'

'She is right,' Boromir said unexpectedly from his seat. 'And one does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs.'

'What else stands in the way?' asked Ember, knowing the answer would not be good.

'There is evil there that does not sleep,' said Boromir, 'And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland. Riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!'

'Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?' exclaimed Legolas, unable to keep himself from rising again. 'The Ring must be destroyed!'

'And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!' countered Gimli, narrowing his eyes up at the Elf.

'And if we fail,' Boromir continued, 'What then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?'

'I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!' growled Gimli. He held his other axe threateningly before Legolas. Ember glanced up to see Isis leaning over the balcony, alarmed.

Together, Boromir and Gimli were the catalysts for commotion among the Council. As most of the people present got up and began arguing amongst themselves, Quill looked utterly lost as to what to write. Ember noticed Frodo looking increasingly agitated as he kept his eyes on the Ring, as if it were causing him physical pain. Gandalf would have seen this too, had he not futilely been trying to talk sense into the rest of the Council.

Elrond and Ember exchanged exasperated glances. She knew what needed to be done, and he gave her wordless permission to do it. Astra interrupted her own argument to glance at Ember as she stood on her chair, extended her palm, and executed the silencing spell they had both once been able to do:

' _Vaientaa Silentium Taciturnitsu!_ '

There was a sound like a vicious draft through a swinging door, and the courtyard cut to silence. Apart from Gandalf, every member of the Council looked either shocked or stumped. Boromir clutched his throat at the voice that was suddenly no longer there. Aragorn just looked impressed.

'By all means, continue bickering like small children while Sauron works to claw his way back from the darkness,' said Ember, her hand grasping their voices in a tight fist. She shook her head like a fed up parent. 'Truly, the combined negotiating powers of men, Elves and dwarves never cease to astound.'

It seemed, however, that there was one voice her spell had failed to reach.

'I will take it.'

Slowly, Ember looked down at Frodo, who was standing with his head held high. She was so taken aback, she released the voices of the Council without a single thought and stepped down from her chair.

'I will take the Ring to Mordor,' Frodo said again. 'Though…I do not know the way.'

As the others regained their powers of speech, Ember lowered herself on one knee, staring in awe at the courage of this young, humble hobbit. His innocence was his greatest asset here - it would keep him virtually incorruptible, the most difficult being for the Ring to win over.

'Frodo,' said Ember, a hand on his shoulder, 'Your nobility knows no bounds. If you'll allow me, I would be honoured to walk through the wilderness with you.'

'And likewise,' said Gandalf, smiling down, 'I will help you bear this burden as long as it is yours to bear.'

These proclamations had a very positive effect on the rest of the Council. Aragorn stepped forward and knelt down as Ember did.

'If by my life or death I can protect you, I will. You have my sword.'

'And you have my bow,' said Legolas, joining them.

'And my axe!' declared Gimli. He threw a side-glance at Legolas, but said nothing in accompaniment. Ember, Astra and Quill watched as Boromir moved to pledge his allegiance too, considerably humbled.

'You carry the fate of us all, little one,' he said. 'If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.'

He moved to stand beside the others. Elrond opened his mouth to say something, when a certain hobbit's voice piped up from around a pillar.

'Hey! Mister Frodo's not goin' anywhere without me!' exclaimed Sam, hurrying to his friend's side as fast as his short legs could carry him.

'No, indeed,' said Elrond, amused and even mildly impressed, 'It is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a council and you are not.'

'Wait! We're coming too!'

Merry and Pippin sprung out of nowhere like rambunctious kittens. Elrond now looked truly disarmed. Isis followed shortly behind them, hands at her green skirts and face thoroughly embarrassed.

'I tried to stop them, truly I did.'

'You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!' Merry declared, arms folded across his puffed chest.

'Anyway,' said Pippin, 'You need people of intelligence on this sort of mission - quest - thing.'

'Well that rules you out, Pip,' said Merry.

Elrond surveyed the group collectively. 'Ten companions…'

'Perhaps,' said Ember, her voice quiet but clear, 'The Council would allow for three more?'

Her new companions stared. Elrond looked reluctant to acknowledge her request, but his respect for her outweighed that.

'Who did you have in mind, Lady Ember?'

'Astra, Quill, and Isis Darell, Lord Elrond,' she replied. 'My sisters.'

Different waves of reactions swept over the Council: many, including Boromir, gasped at the revelation that the Living Silmaril had living Elfen and mortal siblings alike. Most began to protest and attempt to shut down Ember's request - not out loud, but in a grumbling, insipid manner. Astra stiffly got up from her chair, which made the conspiratorial mutterings die down. Her wrinkles grew sharper as she narrowed eyes at her estranged sister.

'If that's your attempt at a joke, it is not well received. I have neither your youth nor powers to make myself useful. Not for years upon years.'

She tucked her hands, with veins like tree roots, into her long sleeves, and made to retreat indoors. When Ember next opened her mouth, she stopped:

'What if I could return them to you?'

'…If you could _what_?' said Quill, so stunned she set aside her nib and rose slowly from her table.

'Both of you,' said Ember, dividing her glances between them. 'The Arkenstone is my blood and my lifeforce. I can afford to give some away.'

'Is such a thing even possible?' asked Frodo, peering up at anyone who might know the answer. Gandalf's face twisted in thought.

'Theoretically, yes,' he said at last. 'But there is certainly no written spell for it.'

'No need,' said Ember, resting her gaze on Quill. She approached her sister and, with a shimmer of golden white light from her fingertips, made every wrinkle, sun spot, and frailty disappear on Quill's left hand. Quill gasped - as did most of the Council - as she held both hands up for comparison. She stared at Ember, open-mouthed.

'Will you let me?'

'Yes, yes,' said Quill, as if the words couldn't be said quickly enough. She fastened old and young hand over Ember's right. Then she and Ember both turned their attention to Astra, still in the doorway, neither accepting nor rejecting the offer.

'Astra, really,' said Quill. 'Will you not join me?'

The elderly woman took half a step forward, her expression still hostile.

'I would have the pastsight again.'

'And more,' said Ember. 'I will give you back the skills of magic you rightfully deserve.' She extended her other hand. 'Please.'

Astra looked at the proffered hand, then at her sister and the rest of the companions. No one so much as breathed loudly. Slowly, she closed the gap between them until her bony hand came to rest on Ember's palm. Ember tried not to smile too much.

Everyone present that day had the privilege of witnessing something that had never occurred before, and never would again. Ember closed her eyes, grasped her sisters' hands tightly, and filled her body with breath. That white glow flickered again, but this time from her whole being - wind stirred around the three of them, but nowhere else. Astra shuddered as rays of gold shot from Ember's hand and into hers, until they rode her veins to her heart. The light washed over Astra and Quill like the sun descending to kiss the earth. It was a sight to behold.

'By the light of Elendil,' Aragorn exhaled, when the wind died down and the intense glow faded. Ember swayed before Gandalf helped to right her.

'Are you alright?'

'Yes,' she said, looking physically drained, but satisfied, 'Oh yes.'

'My word,' said Pippin, unable to help but stare at Quill, who was nearest. 'You're _beautiful_!'

'Ah - ah! Thank you, thank you,' Quill stuttered, her voice as clear as ever, but her appearance entirely changed: silver hair and wrinkled eyes had given way to long ginger tresses and bright, oval hazels. Ember had tried to return her to approximately thirty years of age, rather than the younger, more vulnerable teenager she knew.

It was strange indeed to look at her this way, but not as strange as Astra. At first she didn't move at all, apparently afraid of what she might see if she looked at her own hands. Then she spread her fingers and took in the smooth, unblemished skin. Hands on her neck, her face, in the locks of her deep red hair. Though not the young woman Ember had left on the ice sheet of Ravenhill, Astra looked so much more like herself. But her eyes remained uncomfortable and frosty, conflicted at the joy of renewed youth and the discomfort in this long-unfamiliar body. There was one moment of visible gladness, however: when Astra balled her nimble hand into a fist and reopened it, a dancing flame appeared in the middle of her palm, alive with magic.

'My fellow companions,' said Ember, 'What say you?'

'Though it is not my decision to make, I say they present a strong case,' said Aragorn.

'Quill's gift of language alone gives her reason enough to join us,' said Boromir, 'But I grew up with this lady, who also proved herself most capable with a sword in my lessons and practices.'

'And what say the women themselves?' asked Elrond. Quill grinned with a full set of pearly teeth. She walked over to Ember and wrapped her in an embrace.

'It would be an immense honour, my Lord. Of course I will go.'

'I too,' said Astra, mildly taken aback at the clarity of her own voice. She glanced sheepishly at Ember before adding, 'For Frodo.'

'Then it is settled,' said Elrond.

'Is it?'

Elrond looked astonished that he would be interrupted a fourth time, and from Legolas's quiet fiancée no less. In the distraction of Astra and Quill's restoration, the Council had entirely forgotten Ember's mention of their half-Elvish sister.

'My Lord, I respectfully disagree that the matter is settled,' she said articulately, despite keeping her gaze fixed on the floor. 'For too long I have been apart from my sisters.'

'Whose fault would that be?' said Astra, letting her thick hair loose from its bun. Out of Isis and herself, Ember could not tell who Astra resented more. 'Anxiety of separation is hardly a sufficient reason to join a dangerous quest.'

'But I can help,' Isis replied, looking to Legolas for support, 'And perils of a quest do not faze me so easily.'

'It is true that Isis is versed in the art of swordfighting,' said Legolas, 'As well as some archery and close combat.'

'You?' said Astra, with no small amount of derision. Isis took a step closer to level her gaze.

'Yes, me. I am not the fragile child you are so used to seeing. I do not ask this to seek approval, I ask because this is a just cause, and I wish to fight for it.'

'She's right,' said Ember, to Astra's chagrin. 'I knew from the moment I saw you here that you were a changed woman. I feel your strength, Isis. She should join us.'

Isis smiled modestly. Elrond was as close to exasperation as it was possible for a patient Elf to get.

'Then it is _finally_ settled?' he said, regaining everyone's attention. 'Thirteen companions. No more, no less?'

'It is perfect exactly as it is,' said Frodo, casting the deciding vote.

'So be it,' said Elrond. 'You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.'

For the first time in what felt like an age, Ember grinned with fullness of spirit.

'Great!' chirped Pippin, before adding in wondrous oblivion, 'Where are we going?'


	13. The Quest Begins Anew

**Chapter Thirteen**

 **The Quest Begins Anew**

 **A/N:** Hey everyone, I do apologise for the delay in getting this chapter up, but I've come to the end of all my pre-written ones, so it will take a little longer to update from now on, but have faith! The adventure continues...

Ember awoke the next morning with a familiar, if muted, sense of anticipation - the kind she'd felt on the first morning of the quest to the Lonely Mountain. She had known then that her life would change, but had been blissfully unaware of how much, how chaotically, or how painfully.

Without much appetite for breakfast, she wandered through the Homely House until arriving, on intuition, at a library flooded with pale light. The younger-yet-older version of her little sister leaned on a window seat, one foot resting on the cushions and the other barely scraping the gleaming floor. She had a hefty book in her lap, unopened - it looked more like her anchor to the world than an object to be engaged with.

'Quill,' said Ember, briefly capturing her sister's attention away from the window, 'How are you faring this morning?'

'Better than I have in years.' That familiar twinkle appeared in her eyes as her mouth creased into a smile. Quill rocked herself off the window seat and invited Ember to join her standing. 'My reading is no longer impeded by the mists of old age, my mind feels sharper…'

'Your mind was sharp enough in Minas Tirith,' said Ember. 'Without you, how ever would Gandalf and I have learned the Ring's true nature, the mantra by which it exists?'

Quill's shoulders bounced in a modest, rabbit-like shrug. Ember chewed on her lip before going forward with the question she wanted to ask most: 'Why didn't you say who you were, that night?'

'At first I was too mired in disbelief. And when it was clear you hadn't recognised me, well…I took refuge in that. I am sorry, forgive an old woman her timidity.'

They both chuckled.

'How did you come to Minas Tirith, and into such illustrious roles?'

'It was time for pastures new,' said Quill. 'Astra and I began as domestic servants to Finduilas, wife to Denethor II and mother to Boromir. We watched Denethor become steward in the absence of a Gondorian King, watched Boromir and his brother Faramir grow up…Finduilas passed when Boromor was only ten. Thereafter, Astra and I became the boys' primary guardians. We read stories with them; they played swordfighting with us. It proved a beneficial arrangement for all. We have earned the steward's trust over many years, and it's a great honour - as much as it's a challenge - to be members of his inner circle.'

Quill tilted her face out of its thoughtful expression and unfolded her arms. 'But how strange to summarise it so concisely - this is all a lifetime ago.'

'Indeed,' murmured Ember. 'And Astra…has she been this bitter throughout your lives together?'

'We have both been bitter,' said Quill. 'We both had reason. But it was always going to be easier for me to thrive on future's light rather than stare back into the dark past. The fact remains, I lost less than she did…I have no one to be angry with, nothing to be angry at except for time, as it has stood between us like a wall.' Ember nodded, eyes unconsciously downcast. 'Don't burden yourself with guilt. It's only been two days. Astra is utterly thrown. It will take time for you to learn how to be around each other again, and no small amount of time at that.'

'Oh joy,' Ember said dryly with a shake of the head. 'You must see me as practically a child now. I may have power, but I lack your accumulated wisdom.'

'No, Ember, wisdom isn't an abstract that can be so easily measured and quantified.'

'A very wise thing to say.'

They chuckled again.

'What I _mean_ is that we each gain our own wisdoms - small, distinct and collectible. Besides which, you have always been the wise sister in the family; I don't intend to rob you of the title now.'

Ember smiled and put her arms around her sister, trying to get used to their now being exactly the same height.

'It's time.'

Quill and Ember turned to find Astra standing on the library threshold, suited in layers of black and a cloak of autumnal brown, with her deep red hair pulled back and a dagger on either side of her belt. She directed most of her attention at Quill, eyes landing on Ember for only a second.

'They're all gathering at the lower gates. Let's go.'

. . .

'The Ringbearer is setting out on the quest of Mount Doom,' Elrond declared for all to hear, 'And you who travel with him, no oath nor bond is laid to go further than you will.'

The morning was beautifully yellow. Astra and Quill stood in a pair beside Boromir of Gondor, while Ember stood next to Isis and Legolas. To say that it was odd to see Isis in men's attire and armed with weapons would be an understatement indeed. From the corner of her eye, Ember glimpsed Aragorn smiling at Lady Arwen, who coyly bowed her head. She realised, rather dumbstruck, that this was the otherworldly woman over whom Aragorn had sighed on their camping nights, the object of his adoration. She wondered how they could have possibly come to know each other, whether their first encounter was quite as unusual as her and Kili's.

'Farewell,' said Elrond, raising his arms in warm salutation. 'Hold to your purpose, and may the blessings of Elves, Men, and all free folk go with you.'

Nods of assent and gratitude rippled through the group, until most of them took a step inwards, eyes on Frodo.

'The Fellowship awaits the Ringbearer,' said Gandalf.

Frodo bobbed his head uncertainly and turned on his hairy feet towards the arches out of Rivendell. He was the first to step through, but wavered and hesitantly whispered something to Gandalf just behind him. The wizard put an encouraging hand on the hobbit's shoulder.

'Left.'

Taking heart, Frodo led the way out to Mordor, with Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Gimli, Boromir, Astra, Quill, Isis and Legolas following in clean single file after him. Aragorn gave a last look to Arwen, who swallowed visibly with shining eyes. Ember was the last to leave, as it took her a second to check Kili was beside her. He grinned with his eyes: _Here we go_

So they left Rivendell on foot, with Bill the pony in tow to carry food and water rations. Though the order in which they all walked shifted through the hours, Ember remained separate from Astra for most of the journey. If ever they found their strides parallel to one another, they would exchange embarrassed glances before slowing down and/or walking ahead.

Though the hobbits chatted here and there, for the most part the trek was silent, with each person's energy being channeled into the simple, if exhausting, task of putting one foot before the other, over and over and over again, along the lower spines of mountains, through the skeletons of ancient ruins, and across the green fur of grassy sloping hills. Only when the Fellowship stopped to rest, eat, and generally take stock, did the air fill with talk and good spirits once more.

Naturally, the hobbits munched away at their food like happy rodents. Isis and Legolas ate their rations with grace and calm, as if practicing a ritual side by side - though, Ember noted sadly, without having conversations of any particular depth or even looking into each other's eyes. Aragorn, Gandalf and Ember all ate the same small amount, in exactly the same manner: sparingly and absently. They ate the food out of obligation, to meet the bare minimum of fuel they required to keep up their strength. Even for one of the Dunedain, Ember thought Aragorn remarkably resilient.

'We must hold this course west of the Misty Mountains for forty days,' said Gandalf, dividing his gaze between ground and sky. 'If our luck holds, the Gap of Rohan will still be open to us and there, our road turns east to Mordor.'

Ember's ears listened attentively, but her eyes were elsewhere - she watched the steam trickling from Sam's frying pan as he cooked a fourth batch of sausages, and wondered why steam moved in the way that it did, mimicking a playful river rather than falling in the straight line of a sunbeam.

Speaking of which, Ember decided to take advantage of the high noon light by lying on her back against the stone on which she was seated, knees raised, and closing her eyes to soak up the sun's strength. She was quickly learning that her magic, and the magic of the Arkenstone, were not infinite resources - they were deep reserves that required topping up every now and then, especially after outrunning the Nazgul in order to save Frodo from passing into the shadows.

Ember lay there in a meditative state, ears still open to all the activities around her on the hilltop. Astra and Quill were opposite one another, refreshing themselves on spells they hadn't performed in decades:

'I saw a spark!'

'Excellent. That's the stuff. Yes…'

Meanwhile, Merry and Pippin were sparring (at a steady beginner's pace) with Boromir and Isis:

'Good, very good,' said Boromir.

'Move your feet!' Aragorn instructed from his seat on the rocks above.

'You look good, Pippin,' said Quill.

'Thanks!' the hobbit said between breaths.

'If anyone were to ask _my_ opinion, which I note that they're not,' Gimli barked, 'I'd say that we were taking the _long_ way round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. We would receive a royal welcome.'

'No Gimli,' Gandalf said with an even stronger air of gravity than usual, 'I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice.'

Ember opened her eyes and sat up suddenly, as if being alerted to fire. She couldn't discern the cause of this nebulous disturbance until Legolas sped forward and stopped on the balls of his feet, gaze fixed on the sky.

'What is that?' asked Sam, the only hobbit not caught up in mischievous chaos as Pippin and Merry launched themselves onto Boromir, their practice-fighting having devolved into play-fighting.

'For the Shire!' shouted Pippin, 'Hold him, hold him down, Merry!'

'Gentlemen, that's enough!' said Aragorn, laughing in spite of himself. Astra and Quill forgot their spell practice to giggle with them.

'It's just a wisp of cloud, laddie,' said Gimli, hardly glancing twice at the fuzzy formation. Gandalf and Ember stood either side of Legolas, not quite so flippant.

'Do clouds habitually move _against_ the wind?' she said, loudly enough to make her sisters' heads turn. Isis shook Merry's shoulder to break up the scrabble and divert their attention. Legolas's eyes widened as much as his voice rose when he worked out what was drawing so close:

'Crebain from Dunland!'

None of the women or hobbits had the faintest idea what that meant, but as it was enough to send Aragorn into an urgent sweep around their camp, it heightened their nerves considerably.

'Hide!' the Ranger shouted. Sam obeyed instantly, dousing the fire. Boromir hastily collected the swords like bouquets of wildflowers. Every possession was taken from the clearing.

'Frodo, take cover!' cried Ember, ushering him under her wing. They followed Aragorn's lead and ducked out of sight, under rocks, shrubs, whatever cover they could find. Sam, Merry and Pippin huddled protectively together as when they had been chased by the Nazgul; Astra and Quill slipped under a grey stone shelf, the spells they had just been revisiting ready on their lips should they be needed.

With a tremendous shudder in the air, a murder of black crows, so many in number they could make a storm, tore over the hillside with squawks aplenty. Isis hid her face in Legolas's chest as they lay flat beneath dry vegetation, the vicious birds circling overhead. Ember never took her eyes off the ominous creatures. Frodo gripped one of her hands tightly with both of his as they waited for an opportunity to flee.

After a tense minute, the crows finally beat their wings away from the hillside, carrying on towards the South. The fellowship slowly emerged from their various hiding places, breathless from anxiety.

'What are they?' said Quill, brushing leaves from her hair.

'Spies of Saruman,' Gandalf replied, his grave eyes roaming the landscape ahead in recalibration. 'The passage south is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras.'

The other twelve looked where he looked, and realised why his tone was so heavy: they now had a block of snow-packed mountains to contend with.

'And to think I left my mittens back in Minas Tirith,' Quill said faintly.

 **A/N:** Keep an eye out for the next instalment by putting this story on your alerts; until then, have a hobbit-tacular day!


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